


A Different Battle

by Robin4



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dark Castle, Eventual Papafire, F/M, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Rumplestiltskin's mother, The Dark One (Once Upon a Time), Zelena as the Evil Queen, eventual swanfire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-23 06:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6108703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin4/pseuds/Robin4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Rumplestiltskin's mother shows up at the Dark Castle shortly after Cora breaks his heart, changing the course of future events forever.  Years later, when Belle makes a deal to become the Dark One’s maid, she never expected to find his mother living with him. </p><p>Winner of Best OC for Morgan le Fae in the 2017 TEAs.  ---> On hiatus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ruins of a Childhood

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ruins of Camelot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4163451) by [Robin4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin4/pseuds/Robin4). 



> A remix of [Ruins of Camelot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4163451). Sort of.

_Centuries Ago:_

The boy didn’t have a bit of magic.

Morgan sighed, watching the seven year old child—her child—struggle to raise the full bucket of water out of the well.  He was small and slight, perhaps a little underfed, and was admittedly cute, at least for a child.  He also had a pair of sorrowful brown eyes that were hauntingly familiar…but he had no magic.

She didn’t even have to cast a spell to know the truth.  The boy was fully human, and nothing else.  Despite his lineage, he was mortal.  Human.  Normal.She had nothing against humans on principle, of course, but there was no use denying that this was a disappointment.  Oh, she had known that he was human when he had been born, else she never would have left him in his dishonest father’s hands. _I could not take him with me, and yet…yet I hoped things had changed,_ she thought from the shadows.  There had been a tiny chance that the boy might develop into more than just a boring human, but it appeared that he took after his father.

This trip had turned out to be useless after all, just as Accolon had said it would be.  Her visions clearly didn’t revolve around _this_ boy.  Fortunately, she still had one son left, and Mordred was now certain to be the deciding force in the wars to come.  It certainly wasn’t going to be this one, anyway.  Still, she kept watching as the boy finally wrestled the bucket out of the well, filling the one he had brought along with him and standing on his toes to put the original one back.  Then he picked up his own bucket, lugging it inexpertly off to the east, towards the shops on High Street.

After a few minutes, the boy bumped into the baker.  Morgan paused in her shadowing of him to listen to the short conversation, curious to see how the boy would handle the hulking man who clearly looked down upon him.

“Where are ye takin’ that water, laddie?” the baker demanded gruffly.

“To my aunts’,” the child answered, his voice so quiet that Morgan had to cast a quick spell to hear him. 

“Who might ‘ey be?  I ain’t seen ye ‘round here before.”

“The town spinsters,” the boy whispered, and Morgan wanted to shake some confidence into him. _Where is his father?  Did the fool finally get himself killed?_ She didn’t even remember his name, only his leering face.  And the horrified expression he had worn when she left their child in his arms.

“Eh,” the baker spat.  “Strange ‘uns, those two.”

Morgan watched as he only shrugged, clearly intimidated by the butcher.  Part of her wanted to step in, wanted to say something, but that was a road she wasn’t prepared to go down.  You walked away, she told herself.  _He’s human, without magic,_ _and therefore useless for your cause._ She had made the right choice.  She had made the _only_ choice.  More importantly, her last child could not survive the ravages of the crystal cave she still waited in, and Morgan had not the power to protect him.

So she walked away before the baker took the bucket from the boy, before she could see him walking home in tears to the two women who had taken her place.  She had to leave.  She could not come back.  She would never see him again, and she would have to forget.  A human child had no place in her world.  He would be abused far worse there than he ever could be here, and Morgan could do nothing for him.  She had not the power to protect him, even from her own home.

Seer though she was, Morgan did not anticipate seeing her youngest son ever again.

* * *

 

_The Present_

Cora had left him, but he would make her rue the day she had done so.  In the last two months, Rumplestiltskin had sealed her fate.  Cora wanted to be a princess?  Fine.  She could have her fifth son and her fancy dresses, have all the riches that King Xavier’s kingdom could offer—but at a discount, of course, because Henry was _only_ the fifth son, and Xavier’s second least favorite at that.  (His elder brother, Joseph, held that honor, but Joseph was only the fourth son, and far less comely and intelligent than Henry.  But more stubborn. He would have survived power-hungry harpy far better, but Xavier didn’t realize that yet).  Rumplestiltskin didn’t care about riches or who got which title; he was the Dark One and above such things.

But he would make sure that Cora never wore a crown.  _That_ he could do, because he wouldn’t have her as queen.  If she’d married him, if she’d kept her damn promises, he would have given her anything.  Crowns, power, the entire _world_ if she’d wanted—but no, she had to choose the immediacy of ‘power’ over love.  So he would make sure that her dream of being queen was never realized. 

He enchanted Henry’s brothers against her, protected them.  All four would live good, long and healthy lives, as would _their_ heirs.  Xavier would last, too; Rumplestiltskin didn’t blame the man for his part in Cora’s little charade.  Xavier was simply being what he was: power hungry and shrewd.  Xavier hadn’t lied.  Xavier hadn’t led him on.  Xavier hadn’t claimed to _love_ him, hadn’t soothed centuries of loneliness only to make it worse in the end.  So Xavier would life.  _That_ would be his punishment for Cora.  Her ambitions would be thwarted.  Xavier’s kingdom would prosper and shine, but Cora would never sit on its throne.  He’d made sure of that. 

Revenge was the best medicine for a broken heart, after all, and he’d hit Cora where it hurt the most.  Eventually, he’d have her daughter cast the Dark Curse, too, and wouldn’t that be sweet?  No matter what Cora did, the baby growing in her belly would be _his_ monster.  Oh, not his daughter—and that was probably for the best, given what a disaster he’d been as a father and how horrid a mother he’d realized Cora would be—but he’d make her his.

“Hello?”

Rumplestiltskin sat up straight, almost falling off of his stool as he did.  The voice came from the great hall, echoing into his tower and making him scowl.  _Oh, joy_.  He had _another_ visitor.  Another young woman, even, from the sound of her voice.  Someone else to annoy him.

So he teleported into the great hall in a swirl of purple smoke, hoping to scare the life out of the stupid young thing.  “I’m not _teaching_ ,” he snapped.  “I don’t know why you people seem to think it’s open season on the Dark One, but I am _not_ going to teach you magic, no matter what you offer.”

Somehow, word had gotten around that he’d taught Cora magic, and now every desperate young woman across six kingdoms felt the need to come to him.  He wanted to kill them all, but if he did that, no one would _know_ he’d rejected the lot.  Then they’d keep coming, so he sent them away in various stages of disrepair.  Their virtues he left intact—he wasn’t that sort of monster, and had never taken anything Cora had not offered freely, nay, _hungrily_ —but he tore their dreams to pieces, scared the wits out of them, and left them with the irrevocable understanding that magic came with a price, and _his was not for sale_.  No matter how they batted their eyes at him and simpered.

Fools.  They would have done better to make a deal with him.

“I am not here for magic lessons.”  The newcomer turned to face him.  She was older, this one, beyond the idealistic flush of youth, and with brown eyes that _screamed_ she’d seen years upon years of battle and pain.  Her hair was a faded light brown, pulled carelessly away from her face, but her bearing told him that she was at least a noble.  He could always tell.  Her smile was crooked.  “Rather the opposite, in fact.”

“And what is _that_ supposed to mean?” Rumplestiltskin demanded, pitching his voice higher to appear more off-putting, less human.  But his scowl did nothing to frighten her.  _Idiot._

“I am here because…because I am your mother, Rumplestiltskin.  And I waited far too long.”

_“What?”_

“I realize that this is probably something of a surprise to you.  I don’t know what that fool told you about me.”  The woman scowled, and Rumplestiltskin watched her warily, all the while feeling like his soul had just been emptied onto the floor at his feet.  There was no way—none at all!—that she could be his mother.  He was nearly three centuries old, and his mother, whoever she was, was long dead. 

 _And even if she wasn’t, she never_ wanted _me,_ he knew.  The certainty that both parents had abandoned him had weighed him down for his entire life.

“He told me that she dumped me on him ‘like a needy, squealing, _pig,_ ” he snapped, goaded into anger.Rumplestiltskin didn’t mention that he’d always assumed that meant his mother had died in childbirth.  It would have been typical of his father to try to make it her fault, and Rumplestiltskin had no memories of her, anyway.  It had suited the gentle spinner he’d once been to think kindly of her, this mother he’d never known.

The Dark One was not so kind.

“I suppose I must have.”  She drew herself up, her expression resigned.  “I thought you would be better off with him, better off amongst your own kind.  I know he eventually left you with two spinsters, who I hope were kind to you.”

 _No one_ knew that.  Rumplestiltskin had buried his past so deeply that no one would—except he had told Cora, hadn’t he?  _You fool!_   Clearly, this was another of Cora’s tricks.  As if breaking his heart wasn’t bad enough, she now wanted to send some sad old woman to pretend to be his _mother_?  He had known she was a cold-blooded bitch, but this was beyond what even he would have thought of her.  _Kill her,_ the voice of his darkness whispered, sounding like Zoso.  He didn’t always _see_ the other Dark Ones, not anymore, but he could always, always hear them.  _Kill them both._

Magic leapt to his hands, making his entire body shiver with power and rage.  Rumplestiltskin needed Cora—at least until her daughter was properly damaged by her—but he didn’t need Cora’s puppet.  So, he teleported himself swiftly, landing inches away from her and reaching out to grab her throat in one clawed hand.  He squeezed roughly, using magic to move them both roughly until her back slammed against the wall and she made a gratifying little cough-like squeak.

“Joke’s on you, dearie.” The words snapped out of him like something breaking.  “I’m a little older than your typical Dark One by _centuries_.  My mother would be long dead.”

Hauntingly familiar brown eyes met his evenly.  “I am Morgan of Cornwall.  You might know me as Morgan le Fae.  I am not precisely what you would call a _normal_ human being with a traditional lifespan.”

Rumplestiltskin dropped her like a hot rock, skittering backwards a step.  She couldn’t be.  Firstly, Morgan of Cornwall was a legend.  She was one of the greatest sorceresses of all time, _far_ older than he, if stories were to be believed.  Morgan was certainly old enough to be his mother—by at least two centuries— _if_ this woman was who she claimed to be.  _My mother is dead_ , he thought desperately.  _Isn’t she?_

 _She’s lying,_ Nimue’s acid whisper insisted.  _Just kill her._   And part of Rumplestiltskin wanted to listen so badly.  The mere suggestion that this woman, _Morgan,_ might be his mother brought with it too much pain, brought up too many memories he preferred dead and buried.  Years of experience as the Dark One, however, told him that whatever Nimue wanted was probably in direct conflict with anything that was actually good for _him_ , so Rumplestiltskin ignored her.

“Why should I believe you?”

“I assume you would believe blood magic.  And I would think”—she glanced around—“that in a castle like this, you have several doors, locks, or other objects that are so enchanted.  Point me at one, and I will prove it to you.”

He was too much of a sorcerer to doubt she could pass such a test if she had suggested it—even if he _would_ demand proof.  But that was simply him being detail-oriented, particular.  Ornery, even.  That did not, however, lessen the emotional impact that the realization had.  “You…you could be…”

“Another long lost relative?” Morgan chuckled.  “It is possible.  I had four children other than you, though only one had children of his own.  But if you grew up in Hamelin and your father’s name was Malcolm, you are—”

“Enough!”  He loomed forward again, this time his fury all Rumplestiltskin and not the Dark Ones inside him.  He didn’t want to be reminded of his father, not even by this woman who claimed to be his mother.  Yet that line of thought, hateful though it was, brought up a thousand other questions.  “How would _he_ ”—he refused to use his father’s name—“manage to sire a child on _you_?  Assuming you are who you claim to be.”

Rumplestiltskin snapped the last sentence nastily, but he could hardly ignore the magic swirling around Morgan.  Some of it was ruined, long wasted and sucked away by working greater magics even he couldn’t identify at first glance.  But there was certainly _power_ there, real power, and old Malcolm hadn’t been worth anything in that respect.  His precious little game of follow the lady wouldn’t have won him the admiration of any woman with half a brain, and Rumplestiltskin had always suspected that his mother had been a whore, a fool, or too new to town to know what Malcolm was.

For the first time, Morgan looked away.  “Let us satisfy your suspicions first, shall we?  Then perhaps I will tell you the story.  It is not…a nice one.”

Well, at least that fit.  If she’d come in here with arms full of teacups and roses, there was no way Rumplestiltskin would have believed her.  But the haunted look in her eyes was one he knew all too well.  It was the look of someone who had been stepped on one too many times by the world, who had tried to do what was right and had it explode in their face a thousand times over.  Morgan looked _tired_ , and a little broken, and those brown eyes told stories that were far too much like his own.

He had to test her, of course.  A half dozen times, with different locks, spells, and traps, just to make sure.  But Morgan passed every one of them, all without using a bit of magic that Rumplestiltskin could detect.  By the end of an hour, there was no denying that she was related to him.  After a second hour, even Rumplestiltskin had to accept that he was facing his mother.

His _mother_.

For the first time in his life, Rumplestiltskin had a mother.  That didn’t mean he could trust her, of course; he knew full well that parents, at least _his_ parents, were not to be trusted.  _She’ll only want your power,_ Nimue reminded him softly, and Rumplestiltskin felt his odd and hesitant excitement cool abruptly.  _Why would she want_ Rumplestiltskin _?  Even Cora only wanted your power, and you thought she_ loved _you.  Fool._   Banishing the small strongbox he’d held while Morgan proved she could open it, Rumplestiltskin pulled away from his mother.

He’d neglected to think of one other possible reason why someone like Morgan of Cornwall would sleep with a huckster and a thief.  _She’s just like him.  Lies with a pretty smile, and then cuts you where it hurts._   He didn’t know if that last thought was his or one of the others; perhaps it had been Nimue, or even Zoso, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t care.  That didn’t make it less true.

“Do you believe me, now?” Morgan asked softly, as if she couldn’t sense his sudden coldness.

“Yes.”  Armoring himself with his anger—he would _not_ suffer another heartbreak!—Rumplestiltskin swung to look at her with a snarl.  “And that brings us back to the original question, dearie.  What _do_ you want?   Hmmm?  Come to find a way to take power to replace what you lost?”

She blinked, staring at him like he’d gone insane.  And maybe he had.  He was a Dark One who had thought he could find love, after all.  They didn’t come crazier than that.

“I don’t need your power, Rumplestiltskin,” his mother said softly.  “I have enough of my own, and I am far too well acquainted with the price you must pay for your own.  No…I came because I should have come for you centuries ago.  I should never have left you in the first place.”

Part of him _burned_ to hear those words, and there was still a little boy within the monster who wanted to throw himself at his mother and cry.  But he was the Dark One, not a lost and broken boy, so Rumplestiltskin did no such thing.  He just narrowed his eyes.  “Easy to say that now.”  His smile was nasty, all sharp edges that were _not_ caused by the broken shards of his soul, thank you very much.  “But you did.  And now you’ve can reap the benefits of what you’ve sown.”

“I would not have come here if I was not prepared to do that.”  Morgan swallowed, but she didn’t look as nervous as she did sad.  “And I don’t think an apology from me will mean anything to you, but I am sorry.”

“Why don’t you think that’ll mean anything?” he snapped before he could stop himself, trying to ignore the last three words.  He didn’t _want_ a mother.  He didn’t _need_ a mother.  It was far too late.  “Because I’m the Dark One?  Because the Dark One can’t possibly _feel_ or care?”

Of course that was it.  He was a monster, and monsters did not have feelings like men.

“No.”  Amazingly, Morgan stepped forward, putting a hand on his arm.  Rumplestiltskin twisted to stare at that hand, not knowing what to do with it.  “Being the Dark One doesn’t make you feel less.  I simply meant that I had hurt you enough already.”

How long had it been since someone had touched him?  Cora had, but she’d only wanted his power.  This was…this was his mother.  She had to want something.  She _had_ to.  He knew how to deal with that.  Nothing else made sense.

“Had I been here, perhaps you would not have had to make the choices you’ve made,” Morgan said softly. 

“I…”

His mouth worked uselessly, gums flapping emptily.  Rumplestiltskin, silver-tongued wordsmith that he was, had nothing to say.  He didn’t know how to cope with someone offering compassion.  This wasn’t darkness, this wasn’t lust born of a joined love for power.  This was a simpler love, something softer and more open than he’d ever experienced in his life.

“I will tell you my story if you tell me yours.”  His mother’s smile was crooked.  “I suspect both have their ugly moments, but it is a start.”

 _Don’t let her in.  She won’t love you.  She’ll see you for what you are and hate you for it!_ He had to get control of this situation somehow.  “What makes you think that you can walk in my castle and make demands?”

“I am not making demands—”

“I am not a child!” Rumplestiltskin cut her off, white hot fury rising to meet the infuriating calm she displayed.  “I don’t want you here, and I don’t _need_ anyone!”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.”  Morgan’s brown eyes blazed.  “Of course you do.  We all do.  Being a lonely monster in a castle may fit every cliché there is, but _you_ are no typical Dark One, so stop acting like it!”

That jerked him up short.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t really know how to respond to that, so in the end, he wound up telling her his story. 

All of it.


	2. Broken Pieces of a Soul

Rumplestiltskin told her his story haltingly, at first brokenly and then angrily.  He spoke of a boy who he loved more than life itself, of a Seer and a prophecy, of making a deal he did not understand.  Morgan listened without comment, burning to reach out to the man she could see clearly shining out from underneath an incredibly temperamental Dark One, but the way he kept himself in check stopped her from doing so.  His emotions were clearly whipping back and forth between every imaginable extreme, yet somehow, he didn’t lose control.

That was fascinating.

Only after he told her of Cora, of this miller’s daughter who he had taught magic, fallen in love with— _in love with!_ —and who and then betrayed him, did Morgan ask her son how long he had been the Dark One.  She had expected him to say years, perhaps, or even decades.  The former would be quite the accomplishment; Nimue’s spawn did not tend to last long before some would-be hero put the dagger through their heart or some power-hungry sorcerer thought they could control the darkness better.  There had been dozens of Dark One since the first, as any careful student of magic was well aware.  Morgan had not expected centuries.

That made her look at her son in a new light.  She had come to him because Rumplestiltskin was her _son_ , and a chance remark from her longtime lover, Accolon, had let her know that her old enemy had always been watching the boy Morgan had thought long dead.  Accolon had accidentally revealed himself a traitor with that remark, but she almost hadn’t cared.  Oh, she’d cast him out of her crystal cave, left him in the world to fend for himself and explain his failure to the Black Fae whom he served, but Morgan had little time for the lover who had betrayed her.  Not when she had another _living_ child.

It had taken two days of him demanding she leave and Morgan refusing before Rumplestiltskin had been willing to share his sad tale, and now she drank it up, listening to every word with a heart that wanted to break.  _I left him,_ she knew.  _I left him to this, when I could have changed_ everything.  Yet it was too late to change the past; no one knew that better than Morgan did.  All she could do was fight to make the future better.

* * *

 

“What do you care, anyway?” Rumplestiltskin snapped after he’d finished telling a story he should have known better than to share.  The last time he’d dared tell anyone about his past, the last time he’d trusted enough, he’d been rewarded with a broken heart.  _Fool._   The next words snarled out of him like a rabid animal.  “If you’d _ever_ loved me, you wouldn’t have left!”

Morgan absorbed that blow with the same calm that she’d absorbed all the similar ones over the last two days, nodding in acceptance without trying to excuse herself.  “I know.”  Her voice was soft, and damn her, he couldn’t pull away from the hand that landed on his arm.  “I am more sorry than words can express.  I cannot change the past, but I can be here now.  And I can promise you this: _I will help you find your son._ ”

Those words hit him like a lightning bolt.

_She lies,_ the darkness whispered, sounding like Nimue.  Or was that Gorgon, with his broken heart over the woman who had cursed him into beastly form?

But she was his _mother._ No one, not even Cora, had ever promised to help him find Baelfire.  Rumplestiltskin had never so much as dreamed that anyone would.

“Why?”  His whisper was harsh in the sudden silence, and Morgan squeezed his arm gently.

Morgan had squeezed his arm.  The only person in the last two centuries to touch him without rancor had been Cora, and she’d never been gentle.  There was nothing about Cora that had _ever_ been gentle; she was all lust and power and ambition.  This was a soft touch, a mother’s touch.

It nearly broke him in two.

“Because you are my son, and he is my grandson.”  Brown eyes so very like his used to be— _Bae’s eyes_ —met his, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t detect a lie in the simple statement.

_She’ll use you!  They all do.  No one cares about you.  You are_ nothing _, and always have been,_ the voices inside him raced to whisper, and Rumplestiltskin felt his throat grow tight.  He had never been worth loving, had he?  Milah had learned to rightfully hate him for his cowardice, Baelfire had come to fear his darkness, and Cora had used his weak nature against him. 

“I…”  He didn’t know what to say. 

Morgan simply squeezed his arm again.

* * *

 

Another three days passed before Rumplestiltskin bent enough to ask his mother for her story—nay, to demand it.  Having just finished making a deal with a pair of miserable peasant lads who reminded him _far_ too much of himself, Rumplestiltskin was in a foul mood and returned to the Dark Castle find his mother gone.  He didn’t want her in his castle, of course, and he should have been relieved, but he felt strangely empty.  _I_ don’t _want her here.  I am glad she’s gone._

Gleeful cackling filled his mind, but Rumplestiltskin tried to shove it aside.  _Of course_ she _wouldn’t want to be here, either,_ Nimue pointed out all-too-logically.  _Once she realized she had a monster for a son, she—_

“You’re back.”

The voice startled him so much that Rumplestiltskin jumped.  Then he whirled around, his hands full of fury and magic, ready to rip apart whoever had dared intrude upon his brooding—only to find that it was his mother.

“Where were you?”

“Looking for an old friend, only to find that he was indisposed.”  Morgan’s voice was bone dry as she crossed the great hall, lowering herself into the chair by the fire.  “I had hoped he might help with the problem of crossing realms.”

“If you mean the oh-so-moral Apprentice, I’m afraid I’ve already bled that well dry.”  Rumplestiltskin laughed nastily, hoping that she’d assume he had killed the useless old bastard.  He hadn’t, of course, even when the Apprentice refused to help him.

_I only want to find my son!_ He had begged and he had pleaded, as some vestige of the spinner’s soul had demanded he do.  Rumplestiltskin had sought a way to spare the world the curse he knew he would enact, but no, that was not to be.  The Apprentice could have saved them all a great deal of trouble with a flick of his wand, but if the so-called protector of humanity could not be bothered to stop him, why should Rumplestiltskin care about anyone else’s fate?  _He could have made me a doorway, and I never would have returned,_ he thought darkly.  Brokenly.  Instead, the Apprentice had refused him.  Again.

Morgan swung to face him.  “No, I meant Merlin.  But he is, unfortunately, still a tree.”  She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.  “Though I may be able to work something out with his Apprentice, now that you mention it.”

“Don’t bother.  He said that his magic couldn’t create a portal for the _Dark One._ ”

Rumplestiltskin wanted to break something or kill someone; darkness boiled up under his skin like a thousand ants. 

Another frown.  “Hm.”

“ _Hm?”_ he echoed.  “Is that all you have to say?  _Hm?_   I should have killed the useless old carcass!”

Power ripped out of him, and Rumplestiltskin launched a fireball in Morgan’s direction.  He changed his aim at the last moment, letting the fireball explode within the fireplace in a shower of sparks and embers, but that wasn’t nearly satisfying enough.  Stalking to the left, he grabbed his old walking stick from the corner where it stood, wheeling on the bookshelf and swinging the stick wildly.  It smashed into the shelves with a gratifying _crash_ , splintering wood and sending books flying every which way.  He hit the shelf again, and then again, smashing the walking stick into it until his shoulders ached.

Finally, he stopped, winded but still broken, fury still racing through his veins.  Simple destruction often assuaged the darkness, but not today.  Today it was feeding off of his despair, and even though Rumplestiltskin knew that, he could not do a thing to stop it.  He hadn’t needed the reminder that the Apprentice had refused him, that there was a _human_ with the ability to send him into the Land Without Magic, and yet that one man wouldn’t do it.  Over the years, Rumplestiltskin had uncovered many pathways to the Land Without Magic that the infernal fairy had failed to mention, but none of them would have been so easy as that one.

Small wonder he’d collapsed so willingly into Cora’s arms once he met her two weeks after the Apprentice’s refusal.  He’d _known_ her daughter could cast the Curse to End All Curses, and he _needed_ that.  There was no other way.

But just thinking of Cora made fury rise again.  He wanted to kill her, but he _couldn’t_.  Not while he needed her daughter, the girl not yet born.  He’d seen that in multiple visions, knew what it would take.  The darkness did not care, of course, and he could feel the pressure building, could feel it urging him to go to Cora and take his fury out on her. 

_No._   Throwing the staff into the corner hard enough that he was surprised it did not break, Rumplestiltskin pushed back the desire to teleport across kingdoms and rip his former love to shreds. Still, fire began building in his palms, rage roaring through him like a thundering wind.  _This so-called mother of yours is useless.  She is only trying to distract you!_   He could almost feel Zoso breathing down his neck.  _Kill her!  Kill her and get on with the curse!_

“Are you going to throw those fireballs at me, or are your hands simply cold?” 

Rumplestiltskin’s head snapped up.  Morgan was on her feet now, and her tone was coolly disinterested.  She didn’t look ready to defend herself, but if there was anything he had learned about her over the past few days, it was that one could never tell with her. 

_Do it.  She mocks you._  His hands were shaking with rage, not all of it his own.

“Why did he refuse to help you?” Morgan asked softly, stepping forward fearlessly.

“Because I am the Dark One, of course.”  He let out a high-pitched giggle, trying to prove that he didn’t care, that it didn’t break his heart.  “I _always_ have an ulterior motive.  Dark Ones always do.  Suppose I can’t blame him for knowing _that_.”

“Do you?”

“Of course not!” The words burst out of him with the force of a hurricane.  “All I want is to get to him!  All I want—I want—”

The last words caught on a sob, and much to Rumplestiltskin’s surprise, Morgan reached out for him.  He still teleported away from her to grieve in peace, but the gesture was as nice as it was unexpected.

* * *

 

_“I grow tired of watching a Dark One for no reason,” Accolon had told their unexpected visitor, right when he thought Morgan was not listening.  But that had gotten her attention, for the last Dark One she’d known of had been Atlantes, whom she doubted would last long, for all the power he’d possessed._

_“Our Lady would have you do so.  Yours is not to reason why.”_

_Those words boiled in Morgan’s veins like ice, because she knew who_ our Lady _had to be.  Only one being across all magical realms insisted upon being addressed as such, and that meant her old enemy had a specific interest in the current Dark One…and that her lover was spying for her._

Morgan blinked, stopping in the doorway of the tower room where her son practiced his magic.  _Her son._   Somehow, the Black Fairy had known that the Dark One was Morgan’s long lost child, and she had corrupted Accolon into doing her dirty work.  But it no longer mattered; Morgan hardly bothered to mourn the loss of her longtime lover.  Accolon had been sweet and simple when she had been adverse to anyone complicated, but he had never held her heart.  She had learned long ago to reserve her love for her children…only two of which still survived.

Once, she had been utterly certain that her firstborn would be the most troublesome of the lot.  But Rumplestiltskin was quickly surpassing Mordred in that regard; he was mercurial and volatile, furious and broken.  He was everything a Dark One should not be, and yet she thought he was the most knowledgeable yet.  The way his hands moved over the potion he was working on caught her eye, and Morgan did not need more than a moment to realize that he was indeed an expert in the magic he practiced.  That made a small smile touch her lips, and Morgan finally walked into the room, enjoying the fact that Rumplestiltskin was either ignoring her or had not noticed she was there.

Either way, that meant she’d earned some small measure of his trust, and that left her breathless with hope.

“What are you working on?”  She had been in the castle for two weeks, and had bene careful not to question him, even when she burned to.  It was important that Rumplestiltskin not think his mother wanted to control him in any way, particularly not using the thorny method they were both aware of.

“An experiment.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice was deeper when he was focused, lacking the high-pitched tones of the imp. 

“I can see that.”  Morgan would not have had to ask, otherwise.

Golden eyes slid to study her inscrutably.  “True Love.  I am trying to bottle True Love.”

“That’s impossible.”  Centuries of practicing magic told Morgan that _no one,_ no matter how knowledgeable, could harness the most powerful magic of all, but Rumplestiltskin scowled at her automatic response.

“Impossible only means someone hasn’t done it yet.”

“Sometimes impossible is simply impossible.”

One of those off-putting giggles rang out, but Morgan thought it was more a nervous habit than an attempt to frighten her.  “That’s what they want you to think, dear—uh, forget that last part.”

“Of course.”  Morgan barely managed to keep a straight face.  She’d witnessed her son’s habit of calling anyone he didn’t like—and some that he did—‘dearie’, but apparently he thought that was not a suitable way to address his mother.  Instead, she studied his handiwork, watching the golden spark inside the rose colored potion fade into black ash.  “Your catalyst isn’t strong enough.”

“I know.” He scowled, the imp’s voice vanishing again.  “Something’s missing. It _should_ work.  This is the Age of True Love—I’ve Seen it.”

Those last words made her cock her head.  “Seen?  You are a Seer?”

Her breath caught; how could she have missed that?  Of all things to miss, if her son was marked by such magic—

“Ah, yes.  I took that power.  Not that it’s been terribly useful.”  A nasty laugh.  “Made another deal I didn’t understand, that one.  Should have asked why she wanted to be rid of the blasted power so badly.”

“I inherited my grandmother’s Sight.”  Morgan wasn’t sure why the words came out so easily; she didn’t usually tell people she was a Seer.  Then again, how many centuries had passed since she’d encountered another?  “She was the Lady of the Lake.  You come from a long line of magic.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted, swinging to glare at her as he abandoned the potion.  “On _your_ side, maybe.  But that was hardly the one that mattered, was it?”

“I am here now.”  She kept her voice quiet, knowing this was another one of his mood swings.  Morgan was even starting to be able to figure out where they came from; Rumplestiltskin grew ever angrier after he opened up about anything.  He seemed to hate his own need for affection and acceptance, and she burned to know how that had happened to him. 

_Was he so broken before he became the Dark One, or did this come after?_   He had told her his life’s story, but only the broad strokes of it.  She knew of how he’d crippled himself, how his wife had abandoned him for a pirate, and even how he’d killed said wife—which had been said with a devastated glee that Morgan sensed hit utter self-loathing.  She knew how he’d lost his son, and the many paths he’d tried to find him.  She even knew a little of that foolishly ambitious miller’s daughter, who had for some reason thought that abandoning the Dark One—a trained _sorcerer_ of a Dark One!—for a king’s fourth son would help her rise in the world.  But Rumplestiltskin had yet to let her see more than glimpses beneath the surface, and she suspected that a long time would pass before he did so.

“Yes, because that matters _so_ much!” he snapped, his temper out again.

Morgan met his eyes.  “How much it matters is up to you.  As I’ve said, I cannot change the past.”

“You cannot do anything!  You weren’t _there_!”

Images sizzled through her mind, and Morgan had to grab ahold of the table to keep herself from falling.  She could see a man becoming a boy, a crying child—her child—and a lost doll.  Her voice came out in a suddenly broken whisper.  “What did he do to you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  The broken expression was replaced by bored disdain, but Morgan reached out to take his arm before he could teleport away.

“Yes, you do.”  She did not see the past often, but she knew that she had.  “Your…father left you, didn’t he?  I always thought that he got himself killed in some foolish tavern brawl, or tried to worm his way into the wrong woman’s bed.”

“As if that would kill him.”  The sharp giggle did nothing to hide the hurt in the eyes that turned on her.  “You didn’t.”

“I was…not myself.”  Morgan was loathe to volunteer more, but she could see that he needed it.  _And perhaps I am not the only one that hated Malcolm of Hamelin,_ she thought, swallowing hard.  “I was grieving and wallowing in self-hatred.  I had done something I still hate myself for, and I found the nearest place of ill-repute to drink the memories away.  It did not work.”

“He took advantage of you.”  The words were surprisingly hard, and Morgan was stunned to see that the pain in his eyes had morphed to anger.  Anger on _her_ behalf?

She shrugged uncomfortably.  “Perhaps. Perhaps I was simply a drunken fool.  I do not remember.”

“Is that why you left me?  Because I made you think of him?”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice was suddenly so very small, and Morgan finally allowed herself a liberty she had not yet dared, reaching up to touch his face gently.

“No,” she whispered.  “I had hoped you would be part fae, as I am, or at least magical, so that I could take you with me.  But I could not remain away from the crystal cave for long, lest my people die without me to sustain it…and entering that cave would have killed you.  I thought it best to leave you with humans, in a world that would not look down upon you for your lack of magic.”  She bit her lip.  “I was wrong.  I should have come back for you.”

“It does not matter.”  He looked down.  “I’m used to it.”

“Used to—to being _abandoned_?”  Rage surged up inside her, and Morgan did not need to ask, even though she did, anyway.  “He left you.”

_The bastard._

“He traded me for power and eternal youth,” Rumplestiltskin spat.  “But I did much the same to my boy, so I am quite certain I deserved it.”

“You are not like—”

“I am.”  He jerked away from her, turning away almost before Morgan could see the tears shimmering in his eyes.

“Rumplestiltskin.”

“ _I am!_ ”

He teleported away again, fleeing the castle to who-knew-where.  When he returned, he would not speak to her for days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all my lovely readers! Stay tuned for Chapter 3—“Those We Have Loved”, in which Rumplestiltskin slowly opens up to his mother, and Cora pays a visit to the Dark One.


	3. Those We Have Loved

Another month passed as they danced around one another, sometimes talking and sometimes ignoring one another’s presence.  Rumplestiltskin was glad that his mother didn’t try to, well, _mother_ him; if she had, he would have undoubtedly have shut down entirely.  He’d never had a mother, and Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t have known what to do with one.  Moira and Parcae, the two spinsters who he had grown up calling his aunts, had been beyond good to him, but they had never been his _parents._   Even at the tender age of seven, he’d been too aware of the fact that he’d had real parents, and the one who had raised him had abandoned him. 

Moira and Parcae weren’t actually any relation of Malcolm’s, which made it even more awkward when the other boys in Hamelin discovered that.  He’d been mocked for being an orphan, mocked for being with ‘those strange women’, and mocked because he was taking up a woman’s trade and _spinning_.  It didn’t matter that he was more skilled than any spinster in town _other_ than his aunts by the age of ten, and it didn’t matter that Moira got him apprenticed to a weaver when he was twelve.  Rumplestiltskin mastered that art, too, but it meant leaving home for two crucial years, which he’d spent in Brenan, which was the next town over.  He’d known how lucky he was, but that meant he wasn’t home when Moira died, and Parcae was never the same after that.

So, his experience with family had always been that they left or had him leave.  He spent that month expecting Morgan to walk out, to turn to him one day and say that she utterly despised him—because who would not _detest_ having such a monster for a son?  But she didn’t.  Oh, she didn’t stay still, didn’t remain in the castle, but she told him before left, and she always came back.

His mother _always_ came back.

“Why are you still here?” he asked sometime after the month ended.  His voice was harsher than he’d meant it to be, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t care.  Or did he?

_She wants to find out your weaknesses!_

“I already told you that.”  Morgan turned to face him calmly, still sitting near the fire in the Great Hall.  Rumplestiltskin had strode in and opened the conversation without so much as a hello, but he _needed_ to know.

“Tell me again, why don’t you?  You’re Morgan _le Fae_ , but we both know that you’re not what you used to be.  You’re a bit washed up, and in your old age—very old, actually—you come to find your long lost son?  Except I’m not what you expected, am I?”

“No, you aren’t.”  Rising, she turned to look him in the eye.  “I expected a Dark One.  Someone who had long since given into the darkness, who had lost themselves and was no longer capable of _feeling_.  Instead I found a father who is desperate to find his son.”

Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help flinching.  “Don’t try to pretend that you don’t think I’m a monster!”

“I’m not so sure you are.”

Hearing the compassion in her voice as she said that nearly broke him into tiny pieces; Rumplestiltskin didn’t know how to deal with someone reaching out, with kindness he hadn’t asked for or hadn’t earned.  He _wanted_ this, wanted it so badly that it hurt, but if his relationship with Cora had taught him anything, it was that he didn’t deserve love.  No one loved him, not the way he was now and not the way he had been before.  He was the one who was always left, the one who no one loved once they got to know him.  That was what he had _always_ been, and now that he was the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin knew that it was only worse.

“Tell me what you _want_!” The words tore out of him in a bellow, and he couldn’t hold the fury and pain back any longer.  Rumplestiltskin gestured with his left hand, and the chair Morgan had been sitting in smashed into the fireplace, shattering into a hundred burning pieces.   “No one comes here without wanting _something!_ ”

Morgan didn’t even flinch.  “You’re right, I do want something.”  

“Ah, here it is.”  Rumplestiltskin giggled harshly, spinning and flinging a hand up to emphasize his point.  “What will it be, dearie?  Power?  Perhaps you want to be the Dark One yourself, hmmm?  Maybe that’s why you don’t find me so despicable.”  The words burned in his throat, but he knew they were true, so Rumplestiltskin tried to sound flippant as he went on.  “Or do you want to be a hero?  You know enough to know that you can’t _destroy_ me, so are you playing at getting close so that you can trap me forever?”

_Hurt her!  Make her regret trying to use your feelings against you!_ The chorus of voices was almost deafening.  But damn it all, despite the rage filling him, Rumplestiltskin couldn’t bring himself to hurt Morgan.  She was his mother, and he hated himself for wanting this.

“No.  What I want is to make up for the wrongs I’ve done you.”  She grimaced.  “When you reach my age…you begin to think of all the things you could have done better.  When I learned about you, I knew where I needed to be.”

Rumplestiltskin laughed, because a high-pitched giggle the only way he could think to mask his confusion.  “Stop lying to me.”

He’d meant the words to come out strong.  Instead, they wound up sounding like a plea. 

“I’m not lying, Rumplestiltskin.”  Her whisper was soft enough that he could pretend Morgan hadn’t said a word.

“Rumple.”  His lips moved on their own, and he wanted to curse them shut.

“Come again?”

He didn’t want to answer; he wanted to flee.  But his emotions were too tangled to trust his magic, so Rumplestiltskin wheeled around and made for the closest way out of the hall—until a hand caught his arm.  Gently.

“Rumple,” he all but muttered, blinking rapidly.  “You can—I mean—if you— _never mind_.”

He tried to pull away, but the hand squeezed his arm, and damn his broken soul, he didn’t _want_ to. 

“Rumple, then,” his mother said softly.  Then he finally managed to scrape up enough focus to teleport away before he started crying.

Nimue was prattling on and on about betrayal or heartbreak, about not trusting and absolutely not letting her in, but he barely heard a word.  Rumplestiltskin just threw himself onto the window seat in his tower and stared out at the world, trying not to _feel._

* * *

 

A week after that, they were at odds again.  “You turned three girls into _flowers_?” Morgan demanded, her hands on her hips as she glared at her son.

He ignored her, spinning as if he hadn’t heard her storm into the great hall.

“Rumplestiltskin!”

It was one thing for her son to be the Dark One; Morgan knew better than most how that darkness infected its host.  She was honestly surprised that he got the better of it so often—or ever.  But this was clearly not one of those moments.  No, he’d thrown his darkness on display, nasty and fatal, and Morgan had been left to clean up his mess.  She had, of course.  The girls might have been vain and obnoxious little twits, but they’d deserved a chance to save themselves.

“Do not ignore me, young man.  And do not make me say your name three times to get your attention.” Her annoyed growl finally made Rumplestiltskin twist on his seat to face her.

“Or what?  You’ll _yell_ at me for a while?  Or have we moved into you trying to find some way to trap the terrible Dark One, to stop me from doing my evil deeds?”  There was fury in his amber eyes, but fear, too.  Morgan could see that plainly, and it made her temper flag a bit.

“Of course not.  Don’t be ridiculous.  I don’t want to control you.   I want you to control _yourself_!”

“I assure you, Mother, I was in _perfect_ control when I turned those _lovely_ little ladies into flowers.”  He giggled, clearly amused by what he’d done.  “Turning them to toads would have been more fitting, but I thought the hall could use some color—”

Rumplestiltskin cut off, glancing around the hall with narrowed eyes.  His gaze went left, then right, and then came back to settle on Morgan.  She just crossed her arms, waiting.

“What did you _do_?” Suddenly, he was away from the wheel and right in her face, reptilian eyes fiery and body quivering with fury.

“I gave them an opportunity to learn from their mistakes.”  Morgan shrugged, refusing to back down.  “Only one of them managed to.”

“You took my flowers!”

The urge to reach out and smack him in the shoulder was almost overwhelming.  “Stop sounding like a child.  Of course I took your flowers, because they started life as young women.  Plant a garden if you want to decorate.”

“Dark Ones do not _garden.”_ He looked offended.

“Of course you don’t.”  Morgan rolled her eyes.   “Now, what _did_ those fool girls do to annoy you so?”

“If you agree that they’re fools, why release them?” he countered in a snarl.

“I didn’t release them.  Do pay attention.  I gave them the chance to save themselves:  one hour to speak to the person of their choosing, and then I moved them all to a _field_ of flowers.  If the person they chose could find them at before sundown, they would be free.  One managed.  The other two have probably been trampled by wild horses by now.”

Morgan might have been offended by the reckless manner in which her son had turned three human beings into flowers, but she wasn’t the type to give the girls a carte blanche, either.  _Or at least not after they were all so terribly rude when I_ did _release them.  Two of the three demanded that I turn the_ others _back so they could win the prince themselves._   Morgan hadn’t needed to rig the game; she’d already known that two of the three would go to the prince and demand _he_ find them in the field, whereas the third seemed smart enough to find someone wiser than a half-blind prince to visually search a field of flowers.

Rumplestiltskin snorted, and she thought she saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he finally backed out of her personal space.  “They called me to make a deal, of course.  But they couldn’t keep the promises they’d made.”  Another giggle.  “And two of the three wanted the same thing, anyway.”

“The prince, of course.”  Foolish girls.  Morgan could have told them from experience that marrying royalty rarely turned out well, and she’d been a princess to begin with.

“Well, it’s every little girl’s dream, isn’t it?”  Rumplestiltskin gestured airily.  “Find the prince.  Make him love you.  Gain power—”

He cut off, looking away, and Morgan wanted to murder the miller’s daughter who had toyed with his heart.  How had this Cora ever thought a prince could give her more power than a besotted Dark One?  Not that Morgan would have liked to see her son used for said purpose, but against all odds, he had honestly offered someone his heart.  _Someone who turned out to be utterly unworthy._   But Morgan pushed aside the homicidal urges.  The woman in question was pregnant, and she was not the sort to harm an unborn child, even if she did want to kill the mother.

Two months later, the chance to do so arrived.

* * *

 

When his magic alerted him to the fact that someone had entered his castle, it had never entered Rumplestiltskin’s mind that it might be Cora.  But when he walked into the great hall, there she was, looking beautiful enough to break his heart all over again.  He stopped cold, and he was pretty sure that his heart stopped, too.

“What are you doing here?”

Rumplestiltskin had meant to sound threatening, but even he had to admit that he just sounded broken.  Cora, however, was all smiles when she turned to face him.

“Rumple.”  Immediately, she started forward, but he was wise enough to skitter back.  That made her stop.  “Can’t we talk like the old friends we are?”

“We’re not _friends,_ dearie,” he snapped.  Then he swallowed hard.

“Of course we are.   You won’t let one small mistake get in the way of that, will you?”  Cora stepped forward again, reaching a hand out.

“One.  Small.  Mistake?” His voice small, Rumplestiltskin backed another uncertain step away from her.

“Yes.  A _mistake._   And I’m sorry, Rumple.  So very sorry.  I never should have left you.”  Cora looked sorry, too, standing before him like a supplicant, her smile sad and wan. 

Nervously, Rumplestiltskin licked his lips, trying to slow his racing heart.  He’d been so _furious_ with her, so certain that she’d never loved him.  He’d done his damnedest to deny her the power she wanted, too, but what if Cora had been wrong?  What if ten months apart had taught her that she wanted love more than power?  She looked like she was being honest; she looked heartbroken.  Just like he felt.

_Don’t be fooled, Spinner!_ Zoso’s voice echoed in his head like thunder, making his head pound.  _She’s using you again!_   Yet he could still feel the darkness coiling excitedly; it _liked_ Cora.  It always had.  Cora tasted of blood and ambition, of power and even more darkness.  Cora took what she wanted, just like it always wanted him to do.  _Cora_ was not shy or uncertain.  Not ever.

“You’re not sorry.  You didn’t love me.”  He backed up another step, trying to push back how badly he _wanted_ to fold into her arms.

“Of course I did.  And I still do.”  Finally, she managed to grab his hand, and Rumplestiltskin stopped trying to get away.  “I made a mistake, Rumple.  I thought that power would be enough.  It isn’t.”

“It…isn’t?” 

He didn’t want to sound hopeful.  He didn’t want to _want_ her, but Cora had accepted him for who he was.  She hadn’t turned away from his ugly face, or been afraid of him.  Cora had _embraced_ his darkness, and she’d loved him for that.  _She said she loves me._   Those words had shaken Rumplestiltskin to his very core, because he’d been so utterly convinced that Cora had been using him before.  But what if she hadn’t?  _Then use her,_ Zoso relented.  _Use her love for you to manipulate her the way she manipulated you._   A cold chill ran through him, though, and Rumplestiltskin knew he couldn’t do that.  Not because he was too nice or too good to use someone, but because he wanted _more_.

So much more.

“Of course not.  I should have listened to my heart.”  Cora gave him a tentative smile, stepping closer.  He could almost feel her breath, now.  “I won’t ask for your forgiveness.  I know it’s too soon for that.”

“You’re—you’re still married.”  He couldn’t ignore the hand in his, but Rumplestiltskin could see the ring on her other hand.

“Unfortunately, yes.  You were right about Henry.  He’s spineless and weak, but he is the father of my daughter, and I cannot disadvantage her by leaving him.  You understand, don’t you?”

She was offering him everything save marriage, wasn’t she?  Cora wanted _him._   He could see that in her eyes, could practically feel the desire radiating off of her as she moved closer and closer, her lips almost touching his.  Part of Rumplestiltskin, the foolish spinner who had once dreamt dreams of honor and glory, was repulsed by the very idea.  But the rest of him cackled at the thought of cuckolding a prince, of loving a princess-by-marriage and having the kind of dark partner who would revel in the curse with him.  Cora would help shape her daughter to cast the curse so long as it gave _her_ power, and they could have that.  Together.

_Take what you want.  She wants it to.  Don’t hesitate now, Spinner!_   Zoso’s encouragement was almost enough to push Rumplestiltskin into action; he could feel his body quivering with desire and anticipation.  But, no.  He would wait for Cora to make the first move.  He had earned that.

Then she leaned forward to do exactly what he’d hoped and dreaded, lips brushing against his lightly and then more hungrily, and Rumplestiltskin could not help leaning into her kiss.  He’d hated her so much, but he _missed_ her, missed this one chance at love, the only one he had.  Even with his mother there, he was so very alone, because he never could be certain when Morgan would decide he was just a beast and leave.  Cora was as dark as he was, though, and—

Magic sizzled through his body, suddenly, and everything _stopped._

Cora pulled back.  “I’m sorry, Rumple, dear.  Did you think I would risk people questioning Regina’s legitimacy or that of any other children I might have, all for love?”  She chuckled softly, stepping away from him.  “But I did do my research, just as you taught me.  Squid ink is remarkably useful, isn’t it?”

“You—you—you!” He was so angry he could barely get words out. 

_You fool!_ The voices inside him shouted a raging chorus, each screaming for his attention.  _How could you be so_ stupid _as to let her get so close?_ But he couldn’t move.  Not a muscle.  Not even an inch.  Magic wouldn’t respond to his commands, either; _nothing happened_.  He was an utter fool.

“Love is never enough.”  Cora shrugged, tucking away the handkerchief with which she had lightly touched his hand.  “But, as you’ve blocked my traditional avenues to power by protecting the lives of King Xavier and Henry’s annoying brothers, I shall have to reach for a different kind of power.  Yours.”

“…What?”

He asked the question, but his heart had already stopped. Rumplestiltskin knew exactly what Cora wanted.  She didn’t want _him_ at all.  Maybe she never had.  _I did do my research,_ she’d said.  And he’d told her too much, back in the months where he’d loved her and trusted her.  Cora _knew._   And the darkness inside him was screaming as furiously as Rumplestiltskin wanted to, howling in rage and terror, knowing it was about to be trapped and used.

“I know your dagger is here.”  Cora met his eyes levelly, her face devoid of all emotion save satisfaction.  “And when I find it, I have all the power I could ever possibly want—and _you_ on your knees before _me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this update—I’ve been sick and had family issues that kept me from writing. Stay tuned for Chapter 4—“Betrayal Most Foul”, and in the meantime, please do let me know what you think!


	4. Betrayal Most Foul

“…What?”

Rumplestiltskin’s voice floated up to her, sounding broken and…frightened?  Morgan stopped cold, her foot freezing above a stair while she listened.  She’d heard her son sound many things over the past months, but she’d never heard him sound so defeated.

“I know your dagger is here,” a female voice said calmly.  Coldly.  “And when I find it, I have all the power I could ever possibly want—and _you_ on your knees before _me_.”

Morgan felt like the air had been knocked out of her chest.  How could she have forgotten about the dagger?  What a fool she had been!  And others clearly knew about it, too; she had a shrewd guess who the woman talking to Rumplestiltskin was, but why in the world had he not already ripped the intruder to pieces?  Rumplestiltskin might have been more controlled than most Dark Ones, but she’d seen his temper.  He was devastatingly capable of dealing out death and destruction when he so pleased, and anyone trying to take the dagger should have been a more than adequate target.

But she felt nothing, no magic in the air, no matter how slight.  Quickly, Morgan continued her trek down the back stairs, heading towards the great hall.  She had intended to go out to the gardens; rotted and dead though they were, Morgan found them a decent place to think.  She had no more of a green thumb than her son did, but she did like to spend time out there—at least when other sorceresses had not invaded her son’s castle, anyway.  Somehow, this other woman had disabled Rumplestiltskin, because all Morgan heard from him was more broken words:

“You’re a bigger fool than I took you for, dearie!  Your precious little dose of squid ink won’t hold me that long, and once I’m free, I will _destroy_ you!” But his voice shook, and Morgan could tell that he was blustering.  He was afraid.

“I’ll have the dagger by then, Rumple, dear.  We both know that you’re only so clever, and I know you all too well.  I will find it easily.”  Morgan came around a corner in time to see a young, dark haired beauty reach out to stroke Rumplestiltskin’s cheek fondly.  “Then we’ll make up for lost time.”

“Don’t touch me.”  The words were a snarl, but they could both see how wide Rumplestiltskin’s eyes were.

“Don’t you want me?”  A theatrical pout.  “We both know you do.”

“Not _anymore._ ”

“Well, your opinion won’t matter, will it?” She stepped away as Rumplestiltskin snarled wordlessly, and the implication almost stunned Morgan into inaction.

This sick woman was the one who her son had _fallen_ for?  The one who had broken his heart?  Morgan had been cold-blooded in her time, but she could hear the implication hanging in the air, and it sickened her.  Rumplestiltskin might have loved Cora, but Cora clearly lacked the common decency to even care about his consent, or lack thereof.  Letting out a slow breath, she focused on her fury and gathered magic to herself, burning to finally be able to protect one of her children when they needed protection.

“You must be Cora.”  The words grated out of her like jagged iron, and the younger woman whirled to face her.

Cora smiled.  “You didn’t tell me you had a visitor, Rumple.”  Her eyes swept up Morgan’s figure and then down again; she sneered.  “She’s hardly up to your usual standards.  I feel slighted.”

“Don’t be.”  Morgan had not pulled on magic so fiercely in years; she had thought that her power was mostly drained and gone, due to choices she would make again in a heartbeat.  But now magic rose to do her bidding, matching her determination with sweet and simple power. 

Cora scoffed.  “Are you going to fight me, old woman?”

“Old?”  Morgan chuckled softly.  “I suppose I am old.  I would have to be, to be his mother.”

“His… _what_?”  Oh, seeing that perfectly sculpted face twist up in surprise was quite a treat, and Morgan couldn’t hold back her own smile.

“I do believe you’re familiar with the concept, yes?  I understand you are recently a mother yourself.”  Morgan let her eyes sweep disapprovingly over Cora.  “Though most new mothers don’t cavort off into situations that might well leave their new daughters motherless.”

“I have nothing to fear here.”  Cora came back on balance with a sneer, and Morgan _burned_ to kill her as Cora turned her sickeningly sweet smile on Rumplestiltskin.  “Do I, darling?”

Rumplestiltskin snarled, his expression twisting up in fury that made Morgan’s own anger look pitiful and friendly by comparison.  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Well, that settles it, then.”  Morgan took a step forward, and then paused. “Oh.  Forgive me; my manners are lacking.  I know you are the newly royal Princess Cora, but I have not properly introduced myself.  I am Morgan of Cornwall.”

The vicious little chit was a sorceress, and hopefully capable of reading a little history, which meant she should recognize that name.  Morgan kept her patently false smile in place as she watched the realization sink in.  Cora could call herself royal via her marriage to an utterly uninspiring fifth son, but Morgan had been born royal (twice over, as her mother was what the fae considered royalty and her father had been a king) and had inherited her _own_ crown.  Then she’d married into another, just for good measure.  Her blood wasn’t blue; it was purely purple.  While Morgan didn’t generally enjoy playing the status game, she could tell that Cora did, and she did like to rub snobbery right in the faces of said elitists who relied upon it.

Cora clearly got the message.  Her eyes widened and her lips pulled back in an expression that was far more grimace than smile, and Morgan could tell that she’d barely stopped herself from taking a step back.  “You are Morgan le Fae.”

“I do hate that nickname.”  Twisting magic around her fingers—she would have to do this right, with finesse rather than power, because her long years _had_ left with rather less of that than she needed now—Morgan shrugged.  “But yes.  I am.”

“You are his _mother_?  But he was born—”

“As lowly as you were?  Yes, well, that was my mistake.  I reentered the picture a little late, though I think that’s a matter that properly belongs between my son and I, don’t you?”  Morgan cocked her head.  “Or are you now lamenting the fact that you married a magicless prince when you could have had the love of one descended from both royalty and one of the oldest magical lines in any realm?”

The noise Cora made was a mixture of despair and outrage, but Rumplestiltskin giggled sharply.

“Fouled that one up, didn’t you, _Princess?_ ” he drawled, but Morgan could see the fear still dancing in the back of his eyes.  The poor boy was stuck, and there was nothing she could do about it.  They would simply have to wait for the squid ink to wear off, though she could at least deal with Cora in the meantime.

The moment that Cora twisted to look at Rumplestiltskin, Morgan struck.  Magic raced out of her right palm as her hand snapped up, forming a purple and gold spark that struck Cora right in the chest.  It threw her backwards, right into the ridiculous suit of armor next to the door, making her land with a crash.  Cora yelped, but came to her feet quickly, her hands full of dark magic.  She was readying something nasty, a spell driven by all the fury a heartless woman could muster, but Morgan just laughed and hit her again.  This time, the suit of armor came up, reconstituting itself in midair and smashing down into the young sorceress.  Small bolts of lightning played between the metal pieces as it hit, snapping against Cora and shocking her when she tried to move.

Cora cried out in pain, but Morgan only watched her try to fight the suit of armor off.  Drifting a few steps forward, she intentionally put herself between her foe and her son, who was watching with transfixed interest but still frozen.  His eyes showed a strange mixture of the Dark One’s typical bloodlust and an aching loss, and Morgan just wanted to wrap her arms around him and shield him from the hurt this toxic little social climber had put him through.  Her first instinct was to kill Cora, but she could tell that there was something else going on within her son’s mind.

“If you wish me to spare her, I will,” Morgan said softly.

“I _need_ her.”

That made her frown, even as Cora screeched, kicking fruitlessly at the still-attacking suit of armor.  “Not for—?”

“No!

“Good.”  If her son had been so in love with this woman who had just threatened to rape him that he could forgive _that_ , Morgan would have made certain that Cora did not leave the castle breathing.  She would ask what Rumplestiltskin needed Cora for later, though.  For now, she would finish this battle, and they could sort the rest out when Rumplestiltskin was free.

Cora was powerful and fresh, young and still strong, while Morgan was old and a little worn out.  Still, when Cora finally managed to blast the suit of armor into smithereens, Morgan was ready with another spell.  This one hit her opponent straight in the face, and Morgan would have been lying if she’d tried to claim that the acidic magic wasn’t designed to mar Cora’s annoying beauty.  Morgan had never been a particularly attractive woman, though she’d rarely been bothered by her own average looks.  She was offended, however, by the way this obnoxious little wench had used said beauty to ensnare her son, and Morgan wouldn’t mind taking that away from Cora.

Unfortunately, Cora was back on balance enough to bat the spell aside.  It sailed into a nearby wall, burning a ragged hole in the tapestry that featured a dryad and a flock of birds.  Unfortunately, the hole did nothing to improve the already ugly wall-hanging.

“I’ll kill you for that.”  Cora’s voice was almost inhumanely calm; Morgan supposed that was the lack of a heart talking.  “And _then_ I will find the dagger.”

Morgan snorted, throwing a shield up between herself and Cora’s next attack; magic sizzled in the air and then dissipated harmlessly.  “He’ll be unfrozen long before you can manage that, even if you do kill me.”

“Do you think I wouldn’t bring plenty to prevent that eventuality?” Cora laughed.  “I know how long squid ink can hold the Dark One.”

“Ah, so you do think yourself clever.”  Morgan didn’t look over her shoulder at Rumplestiltskin; she could feel him tensing without seeing his expression.  _I am_ not _going to let someone enslave him.  I have seen how that ends._

_Too many times._

Cora’s response was a tornado of power, black and purple and deadly, that roared across the great hall towards Morgan.  Had it hit, it undoubtedly would have sucked Rumplestiltskin in, too, but Cora was probably counting on the Dark One’s typical invulnerability to save him from harm.  Morgan, however, did not want to see her son hurt, no matter how slightly, so she brought her hands up and split the tornado down the middle, yanking the threads of its magic apart until Cora’s grip on the spell failed and Morgan could turn it to her own ends.  She might not have had Cora’s strength, but she _did_ have centuries’ more experience, and she shanghai’d the magic without a qualm, focusing on her love and her need to protect her son.  _That’s not a power this little bitch will ever understand, but it’s one I know well._  

Snapping her hands together, Morgan clapped once.  Hard.  The now-dual tornadoes followed suit, converging on Cora even as the sorceress tried to teleport away.  But Cora’s escape attempt came too late, and her own magic sucked her in, darkness mixing with Morgan’s own quieter touch of protective brutality.  The tornadoes slammed into Cora, sandwiching her between them as she screeched in pain, tearing at her clothes, her hair, her skin, and her magic.  They wouldn’t kill her, not quite, but Morgan didn’t even try to stop her own satisfied smile as Cora writhed and struggled to get free, blasting magic into the air.  Too late, Cora seemed to realize that the tornadoes had been tweaked to draw _her_ power away as she fought, and then she started simply trying to escape them.

“Clever.”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice split the stillness; Morgan could tell that he was speaking as calmly as he could to mask how nervous being frozen made him.

She shot him a smile over her shoulder as Cora tried again to teleport away.  “You had to get it from somewhere.”

“Modest, too.”  Her son snorted.  “ _So_ modest.”

Shrugging, Morgan held the spells in place for another few heartbeats, waiting until Cora was a hairsbreadth away from passing out from exhaustion.  Cora did collapse, landing in a heap on the floor with a satisfying groan, and Morgan let her stew for a moment.  Then she stepped forward, hauling the younger woman to her feet by the arm of her very expensive dress.  Cora sagged against her, so Morgan pushed her into the wall, having no desire to hold her up.

“Understand me well, _miller’s daughter,”_ she said softly, leaning in close, “because I will warn you but once.  If you return to this castle, you will die.  If you ever attempt to control or enslave my son again, you will die.  Rumplestiltskin may want to kill you himself, and I won’t interfere.  But I shall give you this one small chance, and _only_ for the sake of the child whom you have so recently birthed.  I will not leave her motherless, even if you deserve death.”

Cora’s eyes narrowed.  “You can’t—”

“Don’t try me.  I meddled with greater darknesses than you have ever dreamt of before you crawled your way out of obscurity.”  Morgan knew her smile was nothing kind, and she did not care.  “Now go, before I change my mind.”

Her reputation said she did that, Morgan knew, even though she’d only ever gone back on her word once, and it had been for a very good reason.  _Changeable,_ some called her.  _Changeling,_ others claimed, swearing she was a full fae and not the true daughter of King Gorlois and Queen Mab.  Either way, history and legend both called her unpredictable, and Morgan had long since learned to use that label.

“Now go,” she whispered, stepping back.

Interestingly, Cora’s eyes flicked to Rumplestiltskin, almost looking for reassurance, but he only bared his teeth in a snarl.

“I don’t recommend waiting until I’m free.  Not if you want to live.”  He said the last word in a sing-songy trill, and Morgan could tell that the Dark One was almost completely in control right now.

That seemed to decide it for Cora; she vanished in a swirl of purple smoke.  Her teleportation was a little uneven, made ragged by her exhaustion, but she did manage to leave the castle in (presumably) one piece.  Morgan half-wished that she hadn’t, but she did believe in allowing people one chance to learn from their mistakes.  _Of course, if she’d managed to get the dagger, I would have killed her without so much latitude, but she did not._   At least it was over, and her son was no one’s slave.  Even if he had gotten himself into this mess somehow or another.

Morgan twisted to look at her son.  “How in the world did she get close enough to you to put squid ink on you?”  He didn’t answer, and that only made Morgan’s eyebrows rise further.  “Hmm?”

“I was a fool.”  Rumplestiltskin’s eyes flashed; he was still stuck, the poor boy, unable to move and express the rage she could feel rolling off him in waves.  “Believe me, it’s _not_ something that’s going to happen again.  And I can take care of myself!”

“Yes, you were doing a fine job of that when I arrived.”

His eyes nearly bugged out, but Morgan could see fear underneath the fury.  “I—I—”

“Relax, Rumple,” she said quietly.  “I’m not interested in the dagger.  Wherever you have it hidden is your secret.  I’m your mother.  I do not want to enslave you.”

“ _She_ did.”  The unspoken words might as well have been shouted: _And I loved her._

Morgan burned to reach out and touch him, but her instincts told her not to.  The tension in Rumplestiltskin’s still-frozen body fairly well screamed that he was accustomed to being abused when he was helpless.  Trying not to berate herself again for abandoning him—there would be time for that later—she merely folded her hands.  “I know.”  There was no way to make Cora’s betrayal hurt him less; all Morgan could do was offer support.  “But she failed.  And you are safe.”

_Safe_ was clearly a feeling that Rumplestiltskin was not accustomed to, but he didn’t argue.  And when the squid ink wore off a few minutes later, he didn’t flee right away, either.  He refused to talk about Cora or the dagger, of course, but they were able to sit in the hall amicably enough.  It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

* * *

 

Months passed, and Rumplestiltskin contemplated killing Cora, only to stop time and again because he _needed_ her.  He couldn’t let what she’d done stand, couldn’t let his _mother_ have been his only defense when someone tried to steal the dagger.  Yet Morgan was right when she told him to wait.  The fact that his mother wasn’t telling him to forgo vengeance did make him feel much better, as did the fact that she had actually defended him.

Rumplestiltskin couldn’t remember the last time someone had helped him without asking for anything in return.

Somehow, he found his long-misused heart opening up after that.  Oh, he still snarled at her, and she usually snapped back.  He baited her and she goaded him.  They argued and they nearly broke his castle between them on more than one occasion.  Morgan developed a serious vendetta against the biting stairs, and then she enchanted his mirror to talk back at him when he’d been particularly obnoxious about her culinary taste one day.  It took Rumplestiltskin three days to unravel that enchantment because he was too proud to ask her how she’d done it.  Afterwards, Morgan showed him, anyway.

“Cora’s prince is now second in line for the throne.”  Morgan threw the idle comment out one day at dinner, making Rumplestiltskin glare.

“Due to natural causes, I assure you.”  Angrily, he bit of a piece of bread, trying _not_ to mention that the deal Morgan had made with the baker had turned out quite nicely.  Freshly _baked_ bread was far tastier than anything magic could make, even if Morgan did insist on drenching it in strange sauces.  At least he’d made her stop doing that to his food.

“How can you be certain?”

He snorted.  “Because I enchanted the lot of them not to die by any magical or mundane causes caused by Cora, that’s why.”  A giggle escaped as several voices inside him cackled, but Rumplestiltskin pushed them aside.  “Unfortunately, I can’t save them from drowning.  Nor from their own stupidity, which amounts to much the same.”

Morgan put her fork down and looked at him calmly.  “Will you let her gain power this way?”

“Do I look like someone who wants _Cora_ to be happy?” he snapped.

“You said you needed her.  I never asked why.”

Rumplestiltskin looked away, his anger flagging as he realized how very unhappy his mother would be with him.  He’d been around Morgan long enough now to know that she placed an even higher value on _choice_ than he did, which meant she would not like the Dark Curse.  Not at all.  _Why do you care what she thinks?  It’s not like she ever cared about you,_ Zoso piped up immediately, and Rumplestiltskin shook his head to try to chase the voices away.  _She would not have stopped Cora from taking the dagger if she didn’t care._

_Or she just wants your power for herself!_

_Shut up._   Taking a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin forced himself to speak plainly.  Morgan deserved that much, and besides, if he _could_ get her on his side, she was an ally to put all others to shame.  But he couldn’t lie to her; she was far too good at catching him when he tried.  And subtle though she was, trying to be anything less than forthright with his mother would only cause another argument.  _This is the only way._

“It’s her daughter I need, really.”  The words came slowly.  “The Seer from whom I gained these powers Saw it.  She will cast—”

“The Dark Curse.”  Morgan’s eyes went wide with alarm, and Rumplestiltskin managed not to sigh.  “You mean to teach her daughter to cast it.”

“Don’t look at me like that!”  He couldn’t take the disgust he knew she was feeling, couldn’t cope with that from the one person who had actually stood by him.  Morgan had been in his castle for a year, now, and he’d come to _want_ her there.  Not that he’d ever told her that, or ever would.

“Rumple—”

“No!  It’s the only way!”  The words tore out of him, and somehow he was on his feet, towering over her.  “I can’t get to the Land Without Magic through any portal, and the beans are gone.  I _need_ it!”

“To find Baelfire.” Her quiet voice almost calmed his temper, and then a warm hand landed on his arm.  She hadn’t pulled away, had she?

Rumplestiltskin felt himself deflate, his anger morphing into heartbreak.  “Yes.  I have to.  Don’t you see?”

“How many others will you make suffer for that end?”  Her voice was impossibly gentle as he slumped back into his chair.  “Would Baelfire approve of that?”

Damn it all, he had told her too much.  Too much about his beautiful boy, with his big heart and compassion for everyone.  Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes tightly.  “I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do.”  Her hand squeezed his arm, and he wanted to pull away.  But he also didn’t want to.  _Don’t trust her,_ Nimue whispered.  _She will ruin all your plans._   _You know she will!_   Yet he wanted to.  So badly.

“I _don’t_.  All I care about is him.  I promised—” The word broke off, a hard lump forming in his throat.  “I promised.”

“I know, Rumple.  And you will find him.  I have never doubted that.”

The warm confidence in her voice made his eyes open, even as Rumplestiltskin swallowed.  Still, he hated how tiny his voice went.  “You don’t?”

“Of course not.  I can’t See it any more than you can—he’s my grandson, and too close to me—but I know you will move worlds to find him.  So, I will make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” 

_Don’t do it.  Don’t listen.  Don’t—_

Morgan nodded, meeting his eyes steadily.  “I will help you with the curse, on two conditions.  One: you allow me to explore other options, to find another way—one less damaging to the very fabric of reality—if there is one.  And you take that option if I can provide it.  Two: you dispose of Cora now.  Banish her, kill her, I don’t care.”

“Why now?”  The first condition wasn’t surprising, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t particularly _mind_ trying to find another way to get to Baelfire.  He had chosen the curse because he could (mostly) control what happened and all other pathways seemed blocked, but he really would have preferred a method that brought Bae back home instead.  _I can give him the life I always wanted to, and be a better father.  I’m more controlled, now.  And…and I would like him to meet his grandmother._

Bae would like Morgan, he knew.  A lot.

“Because she is searching for a genie.”  Morgan’s eyes narrowed, and he knew her tells after all these months.  She didn’t lie often, and she wasn’t now.  “I can only assume she means to wish herself onto a throne you haven’t blocked her from.  Or for your dagger.  Or both.”

“She _what_?”

_You should have killed her!_ Zoso snarled, even as Nimue added: _Make her suffer._ Then _use her as you see fit._ He wanted to do both, wanted to make Cora bleed, but Rumplestiltskin forced himself to think first.

The problem was that Regina was barely one year old.  Cora hadn’t had a chance to make her miserable, not really.  Right now, Regina loved her nanny more than she did her mother, which was certainly to be expected for any quasi-royal child.  In time, however, Cora would mistreat her and corner her, would take away those she loved, thoroughly abusing Regina _and_ her too-nice prince of a father along the way.  That would shape Regina into the kind of woman who would cast his curse, and Rumplestiltskin needed that.

But did he need it enough to risk Cora getting the dagger?  He felt like he was drowning, faced with the ruin of all his plans or the possibility of enslavement.

“Will you take my deal?  If it comes to it, I will push the girl in your direction.  _We_ will make sure she is ready to cast the curse—if it is needed.”  Morgan squeezed his arm a third time, and somehow, that helped him stop floundering.  “I promised I would help you find your son, and I will.”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard, his mind whirling with possibilities.  He had never expected to have help, never expected to trust anyone with his plans…yet here was his mother, _offering._   He knew her well enough to know that her own moral code would allow her to twist Regina if it came to that; Morgan always kept her promises.  And he knew, just as Morgan did, that nothing was more potent that the bitter magic of a sweet girl turned towards darkness.  He’d always planned that for Regina, but if she had a secure and _happy_ life without her mother in it, first…

He did know a miserable little world that would be perfect for Cora, after all.  Or maybe he _would_ just kill her before she could find a genie.  That would be safer.  Much safer.  The darkness in his mind howled a little in protest, of course—some of his predecessors were rather fond of Cora—but Rumplestiltskin ignored them and agreed to his mother’s deal.

Two days later, Cora died quietly in her bed, a victim, some said, of using too much dark magic.  What none of them knew was that he’d laced her evening nightcap with squid ink, which was not _quite_ toxic if ingested.  Or at least not right away.  What it did was freeze Cora, making her appear even deader than a sleeping curse.  She was alive when they buried her, and would die slowly of suffocation, unable to speak, move, or perform any magic.  Even Rumplestiltskin thought himself a little too bloodthirsty after that, but when he saw the relief in Prince Henry’s eyes, he almost forgave himself.

Somehow or another, he wound up doing a good deed by allowing young Regina to grow up with only her father, but part of him still felt guilty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter 5—“The Great Wide Somewhere”, and in the meantime, please do let me know what you think!


	5. The Great Wide Somewhere

Morgan had not expected her son to bring a _maid_ back when he went to Avonlea to deal with yet another ogre incursion about twenty-five years after Cora’s death.  She knew that Rumplestiltskin had a special spot of hatred for ogres, but she hadn’t expected him to acquire anything except some silly baubles in exchange for defeating them.  He certainly had an eclectic enough collection of _things_ in his castle; what was one more added to the mix?  Or perhaps he’d add another to the long list of favors that various nobles and royals owed him.  The latter was a far more sensible collection, if you asked Morgan, even though her youngest boy definitely hadn’t.

But a _maid_?  And the girl was a noble, too; that much was made obvious by the fine gown she wore as Rumplestiltskin dragged her off to the dungeon.  The poor girl looked frightened half to death—but only half, which was rather impressive, all in all.  Morgan watched them disappear down the stairs and then listened as the dungeon door slammed shut and the girl shouted at him.  Rumplestiltskin giggled rather gleefully, probably glad that their new guest had a spine, and then he pranced into the Great Hall, looking rather satisfied.  Until he saw his mother standing there, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

“What in the world did you bring her here for?” Morgan managed not to imbue the words with quite as much scorn as she felt, but only barely.

He shrugged, already looking defensive.  “The place was dusty.  I needed a maid.”

“The castle is anything _but_ dusty, except when you want it to be.”  She rolled her eyes.  “And a noblewoman is going to make a terrible maid.  She won’t know how to clean, and she particularly won’t know how to cook, which is the one talent we _could_ use around here.”

Morgan understood a noble girl’s education far too well.  After all, she’d once suffered her way through one.  And she couldn’t cook, either.

Rumplestiltskin could, she knew, but he didn’t.  Instead, he let magic do the cooking, which provided gourmet variety that lacked a particular bit in the taste department.  Everything was perfect, but it lacked the human flair that marked _real_ food.  Morgan wouldn’t have minded if Rumplestiltskin had decided to bring home some lord’s chief cook, but his daughter?  That was ridiculous.

“I had to ask for _something_ precious,” he snapped, crossing his arms in return.  “What would you have had me do, eliminate the ogres for nothing?”

“Of course not.  But now we have to—oh, goodness, is she _crying_?”  Morgan groaned.  A part of her felt guilty for being so derisive, but surely her idiot Dark One of a son could have asked for someone quieter?  Yes, the girl was likely terrified out of her mind—Morgan knew what kind of stories people told about the Dark One, even if she was pleased that most of them were untrue—but Rumplestiltskin really should have known better.

Rumplestiltskin just giggled nastily, waving a hand like he did when he was trying to put forth a confident front.  “She’ll get over it.”

“ _She’ll_ be a headache from start to finish.  Why did you bother bringing her back if she was your price?  Surely there are a thousand and one diabolical fates you could come up with for her.”  The bawling was going to give Morgan a headache, but she was willing to bet that it would drive Rumplestiltskin crazy before it did her, so she was going to make _him_ deal with his silly little deals.

“She volunteered.”  This time his shrug was more uncertain.  “Her blubbering father said no, but _she_ said yes.  Even with a hulking knight of a fiancé trying to forbid her.”

That drew Morgan up short.  “Fascinating.”

“You see?” Rumplestiltskin started to giggle again, and then cut himself short.  “She’s…well, if she’s foolish enough to volunteer to come with me, she deserves what she gets!”

“You admire her courage.”  Morgan hadn’t thought she’d see the day when her son actually admitted to such a thing, but the way he turned away and started muttering under his breath gave him away.  She had lived in his castle on and off (though more on than off) for over two decades now, and Morgan thought she knew him fairly well.  She hadn’t truly _tempered_ him; she wasn’t certain that one could do that to the Dark One.  But she had come to know him, and she liked to believe that she’d given Rumplestiltskin someone in his life to depend upon.  He even smiled sometimes, these days.  They fought more often than not, of course, but they also had quiet moments where they truly felt like family.

She had not thought such a thing was possible since she’d learned of Mordred’s death thirty years earlier, and building a relationship with her one remaining child had done wonders for Morgan’s heart.  _And I think it’s helped him, even if he doesn’t know how to show it._ Right now, Rumplestiltskin was busy toying with his spinning wheel, his movements aimless and distracted.  He was pretending that he hadn’t heard her previous comment, which was generally how he dealt with things he didn’t want to deal with.

Not that Morgan often let him get away with that.

“Are you going to leave her in that dungeon, Rumple?” she asked after a moment.

“Why?  Do you feel _sorry_ for her?”  His face twisted up in a mocking smile as he glanced over his shoulder at her, and Morgan sighed.

“Did those fools receive you so badly that you feel the need to take it out on your mother?”

He sneered.  “I don’t care what they think of me.”

That was a yes, of course, even if he wouldn’t admit it.  Someone had likely called him a monster again, or worse.  Rumplestiltskin flung labels like that on himself carelessly, and he never acknowledged that hearing others call him such things hurt.  But Morgan knew they did.  Still, saying so would not help them at all.  Rumplestiltskin would only close himself off _again_ and she would spend weeks pretending she didn’t notice that he was ignoring her.

“ _Are_ you going to keep her down there?”

“Can’t very well be the beast if I don’t leave the beautiful maiden in the dungeon, now, can I?”  He giggled that annoying little laugh of his, and Morgan didn’t bother not to roll her eyes.

“Do not blame me for people’s hatred when you insist on playing a part you are ill-suited for.”

“Ill-suited?”  Rumplestiltskin giggled again.  “I’m not sure what world _you’ve_ been living in, Mother, but I am the Dark One.  There’s no one more suited than I!”

“I can think of several,” she muttered dryly, but Rumplestiltskin ignored her, walking over to his spinning wheel and settling in.

Fine.  She would let him listen to the girl sob and see what he did.  Morgan wouldn’t help him out of the idiotic situation Rumplestiltskin had gotten himself into; besides, she had better things to do.  She had a teaching appointment with Regina, after all, who was turning into quite the sorceress—even if her natural inclination did run towards light magic.  Rumplestiltskin’s teaching attention, of course, was focused on King Leopold’s new wife, who had unexpectedly turned out to be Cora’s _elder_ daughter.  Unlike her half-sister, Zelena was already grounded in dark magic and relished it, though she was so annoying that Morgan wanted to throttle her.

Zelena had also tried to follow in her mother’s footsteps and crawl straight into Rumplestiltskin’s bed, but a well-placed word from Morgan about Cora and Rumplestiltskin’s sordid relationship had put an end to _that_ one.  She and her son had made a volatile and yet very effective team these past two decades, and Morgan knew that this maid would be nothing more than a ripple on the surface of their lives.  Rumplestiltskin would bore of tormenting her soon, anyway, and find someone else to foist her off on.  Odds were, the girl would wind up better off after a little misery, anyway.

She wasn’t there when her son gave the noble twit a pillow, just to quiet her crying.

* * *

 

In hindsight, Belle’s first day in the Dark Castle hadn’t been too bad.  Aside from that incident with the cup, Belle thought things had gone all right.  She was still alive, anyway, and her virtue was still intact.  Belle had _expected_ to lose either her life or her innocence by the end of her first night there, so the fact that she hadn’t was a pleasant surprise.  So, although she really did wish that she’d been wearing a more sensible dress when she’d agreed to go with the Dark One, Belle figured that she was still ahead of the game.

He’d barely even bothered to look at her when he let her out of the dungeon that morning, too.  Gaston and every other oaf in Avonlea and the surrounding kingdoms had leered at her with far more interest than the Dark One currently was, and Belle found that almost a little unsettling.  Aside from his one not-so-sly innuendo about his “very large estate”, the strangely-skinned sorcerer hadn’t so much as glanced her way with a hint of lust.  Having been drooled over by men from the age of fourteen, Belle understood what to do with males who desired her, but one who barely seemed to notice her looks was, well, different.  _Does he really want a maid?_ she wondered, heading into the great hall to dust as she’d been bidden.  Rumplestiltskin had said so, but she hadn’t really believed him.

An hour into dusting his _vast_ collection of strange and sometimes gross things, Belle almost wished he’d wanted a concubine instead of a maid.  Who could have known that dusting was so _boring_?  She found the odds and ends fascinating but was afraid to touch most of them; who knew what kind of magical traps the Dark One had set?  Still, the more minutes passed, the braver she grew, and about halfway through the left side of the room, she finally gave in to her curiosity.

After all, what harm could the large mallet with three runes on the end do?  She just wanted to pick it up and see what it felt like in her hand—

“I wouldn’t try that if I were you.”

The new voice made Belle spin around guiltily, though she certainly hadn’t been expecting to hear another _woman_ in this place.  This one was older than she, and dressed in an equally fancy manner, though she was in a slightly more practical maroon and black gown instead of Belle’s large-skirted ball gown.  She was watching Belle with an expression of faint amusement, but Belle squared her shoulders and met that gaze boldly.

“Who are you?”  Did Rumplestiltskin have a habit of grabbing noblewomen, or was this woman a visitor?

“I would ask you the same question, except I know you are the new maid.”  The older woman cocked her head.  “Do you have a name, girl?”

She brought her chin up, refusing to be cowed.  “I am Belle of Avonlea.  And I may be a maid, but I am here by choice.”  But Belle was too curious to let the other woman’s lack of an introduction slide.  “And you might be…?”

“You _are_ rather plucky, aren’t you?”

“If necessary.”  Belle did her best not to color in embarrassment.  “Are you the lady of this castle, or are you just a visitor?”

Perhaps Rumplestiltskin liked older women.  Belle had met men with stranger proclivities, after all.  If so, she had nothing to fear for a decade or two, and Belle devoutly hoped that ‘forever’ didn’t last _that_ long.  Even if she was prepared to face whatever came.

The older woman laughed.  “Rumplestiltskin has no lady, though I do live here.  I am his mother.”

“His… _what_?”  Belle’s mouth dropped open, and she just stared.

“I’m sorry, were you expecting glittery skin and scales?” Another laugh.  “I am afraid I must disappoint you.  I am simply a sorceress, but fully human.”

“But he’s—”

“The Dark One, yes.  And you should be dusting, Belle of Avonlea, not gaping at me like a dead fish.”

Belle clamped her mouth shut, her face afire with embarrassment.  Yet she hadn’t ever been the type to meekly to back to work just because someone glared at her, so she tried again.  “Do you have a name?”

Brown eyes narrowed.  “Morgan of Cornwall.”

 _Morgan le Fae._ Her blood ran a little cold; Belle had heard of Morgan.  Everyone had!   “But I thought—”

“Don’t look to me for pity.  You made your bed and can lie in it.”  The way Morgan cut her off immediately made Belle glare.

“I wasn’t trying for pity!  I know what deal I made, and I’ll live up to it, thank you very much.”  Belle found the implication that she’d try to weasel her way out of work insulting.  “I was going to say that all the books I have read say that the Dark One isn’t human.  How can he be your son if he is not?”

Rumplestiltskin’s mother studied her for a moment.  “Plucky and clever,” she mused.  “You might be dangerous.”

“I’m not dangerous.  I’m just curious.  There’s no harm in that.”

“Those are often one and the—”

“I’m going to _kill_ that witch!” Rumplestiltskin’s voice thundered into the hall before he appeared, striding through the double doors with murder on his face.  Belle flinched instinctively, not sure what to make of a furious Dark One.  Would he lash out?  Her books said that the Dark One was powerful but unpredictable, prone to harming anyone in his way.  She took a cautious step back, only to note that Morgan had done no such thing.  Morgan, in fact, had only sighed, looking a little bored.

“What has Zelena done now?”

“She killed Regina’s stableboy.  Something about how if _she_ can’t be happy, why should her half-sister find True Love?”  His voice went high-pitched and sing-songy as his head bounced back and forth like it was on the end of a spring.  “And _then_ she tried to have some poor sot of a Huntsman cut her stepdaughter’s heart out!”

“Oh, my.  That is unexpected.” Morgan blinked.  “Where is Regina now?”

“On the run with precious little Snow White, of course.”  Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “So much for using _that_ couple for my potion.”

“So much for you protecting _my_ student from yours, you mean.”  Morgan glared at her son.  “I told you she would be trouble.”

“Oh, _did_ you, now?” Rumplestiltskin tittered nastily.  “I seem to remember you making some argument about how she was better suited for—what are _you_ doing here?”

His unsettling golden eyes suddenly focused on Belle, who wished she could sink into the ground.  Clearly, she’d just witnessed something she wasn’t supposed to overhear, and as fascinated as Belle was—because she wanted to know everything!—she was smart enough to realize that this could get her in trouble.  Fast.

“Dusting?” She held up her duster desperately, hoping that might prove she’d been hard at work.

“Bah.  Go…go clean somewhere else.  Try the outer hall.”  He gestured dismissively, and Belle wasn’t stupid enough to argue.  Not on her first day.

Besides, if she didn’t fully close the door, she could keep eavesdropping, so she scurried through and eased the door most of the way shut behind her.  Just like she’d expected, Rumplestiltskin stopped paying attention to her the moment she was out of the room.  _He’s just like other men.  If they’re not lusting after me and plying me with false compliments, they assume I’m an idiot,_ she thought smugly.  How many of her father’s war councils had she spied on using just this same method?  Far too many to count.  Rumplestiltskin’s mother was apparently human, and he seemed just as fallible as any other man.  That was good to know.

“I’m not going to scare her away from you again, Rumple,” Morgan said, sounding rather serious.

“I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”  The words were a snarl, but they didn’t seem to elicit a response.  Curious, Belle peeked through the opening, and saw Morgan giving her son a droll look.  “I don’t need coddling!”

“Of course you don’t.  But you _do_ need to find her some randy young man to take her mind off of _you._ ”  Morgan crossed her arms.  “What about George’s boy?  The one you’ve been shepherding so carefully?”

“Ah, no.  I have other plans for that one.”

“Then find someone noble who _isn’t_ a prince.  A handsome enough face will turn her head easily enough, particularly if he salivates enough over her.  She’s shallow, and she _did_ kill her husband, so now she’s free.”

Rumplestiltskin swung into Belle’s line of vision, eyes narrowed.  “I don’t need advice, Mother.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“Mother!”

Magic slammed the door shut before Belle could catch more of Rumplestiltskin’s response, but it sounded an awful lot like a temper tantrum through the heavy wooden door.  Unable to make out words, she finally turned to dusting the outer hall, her mind swimming with curiosity.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t mentioned that his _mother_ lived with him when he made a deal for her, and Belle was beginning to wonder what other fascinating secrets he had tucked away.

* * *

 

Of course his mother took the girl’s side.

“Give her a room, Rumple,” Morgan argued after he’d teleported Belle into the dungeon on that third night.  “It’s going to get cold in there, soon.”

He rolled his eyes, trying to spin but unable to concentrate through his mother’s nagging.  “Hardship builds character.”

“No wonder you have more character than the world can stand.”  Her dry response made him turn and glare, but Morgan only shrugged innocently.

Not that the woman had an innocent bone in her body.  Rumplestiltskin scowled.

“Pretty little thing has likely never known discomfort.  It might do her good.”  Never mind that he knew what a kingdom at war against the ogres was like, and what he’d seen of Belle didn’t make her seem like the hiding type.  She’d been brave enough to take his deal while her father blubbered and her fiancé failed at looking strong.  And she hadn’t broken under his nastiness during the last three days, either.  In truth, he was impressed, but not enough to admit it to his mother.

“Is this more of your peasant reverse snobbery?” Morgan sounded miffed.

“Better than your royal snobbery!”

“You do realize that when you cast aspersions on _my_ bloodline, you do the same to yourself.”  The look she gave him when he renewed his glare was serene.  “That is how blood relationships work, my son.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Morgan laughed, and Rumplestiltskin turned back to his wheel, determined to ignore her.  She let him for a few moments, but he struggled to find his rhythm because of the way she was all too obviously watching him.  Then Morgan finally commented:

“At least give her a change of clothing.  That ball gown is going to be ruined, soon enough.”

“What if I want it to be?” Frustrated, he twisted on the wooden seat to face her.  “Maybe I fancy the image of the ragged noble servant.  Are you going to threaten to do it for me?”

Morgan had never interfered in his affairs like that before, but then, he’d never brought a maid home before, either.  Now she snorted.  “Of course not.  She’s your problem.”

“Good!”

He didn’t know what else to say, and Morgan let the subject drop, so Rumplestiltskin turned back to his wheel.  Perhaps he should get rid of the girl.  If Belle’s presence was going to make his mother act strangely, he couldn’t handle that.  He _liked_ having Morgan to himself, even if it had taken Rumplestiltskin years to admit that.  She was rather nice to have around, even if they spent half of their time fighting.  She was smart, and sharp, and didn’t care that he was the Dark One.  Oh, she got in his way sometimes, but generally speaking, Morgan wasn’t terrible to have in his home.  Sometimes he even enjoyed the moments when they weren’t arguing.

So, if she started fraternizing too much with the help, well, he’d just get rid of the help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter 6—“And Almost Kind,” in which Belle slowly gets to know the two other residents of the Dark Castle.


	6. And Almost Kind

Belle had been sleeping in the dungeon for almost a week before Rumplestiltskin shouted at her to go up the stairs (fortunately not the biting ones) and into the second room on the right one evening.  Rolling her eyes, Belle obeyed; she hadn’t done as much cleaning that day as she had exploring, and she figured that he intended to punish her for her slackness by making her scrub the floors all night.  Much to her surprise, however, she found herself in a beautiful bedroom suite, complete with a four poster bed that was even larger than the one she’d left at home.  The room seemed spotless, too, so unless he really wanted to come up with some make-work—

“Proper ladies don’t leave their bedroom doors open, dearie.”  The familiar voice trilled out a laugh from behind her, making Belle jump.  She hadn’t heard him approaching, and now spun to glare at him.

“Polite gentlemen don’t scare the life out of ladies.”

He snorted.  “Who says I’m any sort of gentlemen?”

“You dress like one,” Belle shot back, acutely aware of her ragged gown and now incredibly worn (yet still ridiculously uncomfortable) shoes.

“All the better to fool you with, my dear.”  Rumplestiltskin danced forward, leaning in with a grin.  “Maybe monsters like fancy clothes.”

Belle fought the urge to back away when the Dark One loomed over her like that; he wasn’t especially tall, but even with heels on, he was bigger than she was.  _And he has magic.  He doesn’t need strength or size to hurt me_.  Swallowing, she glanced around the bedroom with new eyes.  “Is this your room, then?”

It didn’t _look_ like she imagined his abode; for one, the bedding, walls, and draperies were all in pastels, colors she’d always been brought up to believe ladylike.  But she already knew that Rumplestiltskin enjoyed bucking convention, so the colors could mean nothing.  And her earliest fears might now be about to come true.  _Why not take me earlier, then?  Why wait six days, until I’ve started to wonder if he’s more bluff than bluster?  Is that why?_   Belle brought her chin up, refusing to show fear.  She’d volunteered for this…whatever it was.

“Of course not.”  Rumplestiltskin stepped back abruptly, staring at her like she was mad.  Then he flung a hand up in a wild type of wind-mill, twirling his fingers madly.  “It hardly fits my color scheme.”

Belle gave him a doubtful look, trying to conceal her relief.  After all, he might have wanted to take her to any comfortable room, and there was no knowing what kind of odd fantasies the Dark One had.  “Then…what are we doing here?”

“Weren’t you listening, or are all well-bred maidens idiots as well as sheltered?”

“I am not an idiot!”  She wanted to slap him.  Here she was, worrying if she was going to be raped, and he was calling her _names_?  Goaded into anger, Belle stepped forward to glare right into the Dark One’s eyes.  “It would simply help if you bothered to tell me what you wanted from time to time, instead of leaving me to guess!”

That made him blink, his strange golden eyes wide and confused until they suddenly became shadowed and guarded again.  He shrugged.  “You’re the maid.  I told you what your duties were.”

“And is that _all_?”  Belle might not have been so blunt if she hadn’t been so angry, but the words were out and she did not regret them.  She was sick of not knowing.  She couldn’t take the guessing any longer.  “You don’t have any more… _personal_ requirements?”

“Of course it is.”  Rumplestiltskin looked offended.  “What do you take me for?”

“You’re the one who calls yourself a monster.”

“I’m not _that_ kind of monster!”

“Well, it would be nice if you’d tell _me_ that!” Belle shouted.  “I’ve been waiting all week for you to—to—”  She cut off, too smart to imply that he’d rape her when he looked so affronted at the idea.

_Gaston would have cheerfully taken what he’d consider his if I made this sort of deal with_ him.  Just that thought made her shiver.  Rumplestiltskin on the other hand, skittered backwards, clearly having heard the words she didn’t say.  His eyes were wide but his expression had acquired a strange brokenness that mixed poorly with the fury on his face.

“If you prefer the dungeon, dearie, you’re more than welcome to return,” he snapped.

“I didn’t say that.”  Belle glanced around the room wildly, trying to discern its purpose.  “I just want to know why I’m here.”

“Well, I can’t have my maid catching cold, now, can I?”  His face twisted up in a sneer, making her wonder if she’d imagined his earlier vulnerability.  “But if you _want_ hypothermia, you know the way.”

“What?  Are you saying—”

Rumplestiltskin vanished in a cloud of purple smoke.

“—that this is my room?” Belle finished uselessly, then bolted for the door, hoping that he’d be in earshot.  “Rumplestiltskin!”

He didn’t respond, which only made Belle smack her hand against the doorframe in frustration.  Was he ignoring her on purpose?  Why had he given her a room if he didn’t want to take her virtue?  Everything Belle had read about the Dark One indicated that he was eccentric and dangerous, but the idea of him being _virtuous_ or kind was nowhere in her books.

And now he was ignoring her, because she didn’t doubt that he could hear her shouting from any corner of the castle.  Belle heaved a sigh and tried one more time:

_“Rumplestiltskin!”_

“I wouldn’t bother trying to call for him.  When he gets in one of his moods, it’s best simply to wait him out.”

Hearing Morgan’s voice made Belle whirl to face the Dark One’s mother, who stood watching her with an amused smile on her face.  She hadn’t spoken to Morgan often; in some ways, Belle found the sorceress even more off-putting than her son.  Morgan was a legend, and not always a sympathetic one.  She also seemed perfectly content to let Rumplestiltskin continue on in his monstrous (or _not_ so monstrous, Belle reminded herself, at least from a certain perspective) ways, and she didn’t seem interested in talking to Belle after that first time.

“What do you mean, ‘one of his moods’?” she asked warily.

Morgan laughed softly.  “He’s a bit fond of his dramatics, Rumplestiltskin is.  And he’s not always comfortable around people.”

“I’d argue that it’s more accurate to say that he makes people uncomfortable, rather than the other way around.”  Belle had seen how much he enjoyed making others look the part of the fool, after all. 

“Every story has two sides.”  Morgan’s smile turned a little sad.  “Even the Dark One’s.”

Belle perked up.  “Will you tell it to me?”

“No.  My son’s story is his own.  You can ask him, if you like.  He may tell you.”

“I doubt that.”  Belle was unbearably curious, but she couldn’t imagine Rumplestiltskin ever talking to her about anything.  He seemed not to like her at all, and he definitely wasn’t going to sit around and answer her questions.  She wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen him sitting still when he was doing anything other than spinning, actually.

Morgan simply shrugged.  “Then I suppose you will have to wonder.”

But there were some things Belle couldn’t bear wondering about.  “Can I ask you something else?”

“You can always _ask_.”

“He said…he said he’s not ‘that kind of monster’ when I asked him what he wanted of me.”  Belle swallowed hard.  “Is he…am I safe from that?”

Somehow, she’d wound up hugging her torso, and Belle hadn’t felt so small in years.  But she was still terrified of what might come, still terrified that the Dark One would decide to turn her into some sort of concubine—or worse.  But Morgan was a woman, even if she was Rumplestiltskin’s mother.  Surely she’d have at least enough compassion to answer her?

“Oh, yes.”  Morgan looked her up and down.  “He’d never be interested in someone who was unwilling.”  Her smile was thin.  “Even if you are his type.”

“His _what_?”

“Never you mind.”

Morgan walked away while Belle stared speechlessly.  She wasn’t sure what to say in response to that, though she supposed she was extremely grateful that Rumplestiltskin’s mother didn’t think that he’d rape her.  _Of course, a mother might be the last to know…but even if the worst happens, I saved my people.  That matters the most._

* * *

 

A month after he acquired his maid, the infernal girl let a thief out of the dungeon.

Rumplestiltskin didn’t know what to do.  He couldn’t _deal_ with this.  She’d let the damned outlaw go, and then somehow Belle had convinced him to let the man go.  _Belle._ Was that the first time he’d used her name within the privacy of his own mind?  Rumplestiltskin thought it was, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.  And then…then she had _hugged_ him.  Him.  She had hugged him, and said that he wasn’t as dark as she thought. 

Why in the world had she done that?

“You gave her a library?”  His mother’s voice came from behind him; Rumplestiltskin had retreated up to his work tower, fleeing from Belle after he’d told her that she needed to keep the library clean.  He knew that she’d read more than she’d clean, yet somehow that didn’t bother him.

“Of course not.”  He spun to face Morgan, not sure why he suddenly felt so defensive.  “I told her to clean it.”

Morgan laughed softly.  “Of course you did, Rumple.”

“Why would I do anything else?”  Her continued smile made him glare.

“Oh, no reason, I’m sure.”  Morgan drifted over to the chaise lounge by the window, seating herself primly.  Then she returned to studying him.  “Do you like this girl, Rumple?”

At least he could answer _that_ honestly.  “She drives me mad!”

One eyebrow rose.  “Is that all?”

“Why in the world would there be anything else?”  He could feel his hands flapping uselessly in the air, and Rumplestiltskin forced them downwards with an effort.  “She’s the help.  Nothing more.”

“I didn’t ask what her job was.  I asked if you liked her.”

“I don’t _like_ people.  I’m the Dark One, dearie, in case you’ve forgotten.”  The words snapped out before he could stop himself, but he could already hear Nimue coiling up excitedly.

_Take what you want.  You know you want her.  That young, beautiful body, with those lips you keep staring at…it’s been a long time since you had a woman,_ Nimue reminded him needlessly, and Rumplestiltskin really wished he could drown her out.  Zoso’s contribution, however, was even worse: _Take her and listen to her scream.  You don’t know pleasure until you—_

“Shut up!” Rumplestiltskin shouted before he could stop himself, shaking his head to try to chase his predecessors away.  “Just shut up!”

“Rumple?”  His mother suddenly looked concerned. When had she gotten up and come to his side?

“Nothing.”  He hated losing control, particularly in front of her.  Morgan was perhaps the most accomplished human sorceress of all time, and he was a coward who couldn’t even ignore the voices inside his head.

“Ignore them.”  The hand on his shoulder was gentle, and no longer even made him jump.  “You are so much more than the sum of the darkness inside you.”

Rumplestiltskin looked up at his mother, wishing he didn’t feel so lost or so monstrous.  _Did_ he like Belle?  He was attracted to her, yes, but he would have had to have been dead not to have been attracted to her.  There was enough of the human man left inside him to notice Belle, but it wasn’t just because of her physical beauty.  She was stunningly to look upon, of course, but it was the sheer brilliance of her soul that drew him in.  He frightened her, yes, but she refused to back down even when he yelled at her.  She was brave beyond measure, bold and sassy, and she was brilliantly intelligent, too.  What was not to like?

“I don’t like her,” he mumbled, staring at the floor.

Morgan didn’t call him on the lie.  Instead, she just leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead before changing the subject to his latest magical experiment.

* * *

 

A week later, Morgan watched from the doorway as Rumplestiltskin caught Belle when she foolishly tried to pull the curtains down.  Of course, the foolish boy had nailed them down—he was determined to revel in the darkness that he hated so much.  Removing them had never occurred to Morgan, but Belle, bless her cheerful heart, had clearly decided that the great hall needed a bit more light.  And then she’d promptly fallen off of the ladder.

Morgan’s breath caught in her throat as her son caught the girl, but it wasn’t the fact that the Dark One had excellent reflexes that surprised her.  No, it was the soft look on his face as he stared into Belle’s eyes, and the look of wonder and affection the girl sent back his way.  _Could this be what I think it is?_ Her chest was suddenly tight, and Morgan simply stared.  Never, not once, had she thought the answer so simple.  She knew that Rumplestiltskin could love—his never ending search for Baelfire proved that, as had his disastrous relationship with Cora—but could Belle love him?

Belle’s soft voice suddenly broke the silence.  “Um…thank you.”

Rumplestiltskin put her down as if his hands were suddenly burning, backing away awkwardly as if he’d never held a woman before.  _Silly boy.  We both know you have._   Yet Belle certainly couldn’t tell that by the way he was twitching.  “It’s no matter.”

“I’ll, uh, put the curtains back up.”  Belle looked sheepish, but she was still watching Rumplestiltskin as if she was suddenly seeing him in a new light.

Morgan held her breath.  Would he give a little?  Or would Rumplestiltskin dig his heels in, as he so often did? 

“There’s no need.”  His voice was strangely soft.  “I’ll get used to it.” 

Was that a tiny smile that touched his face as he turned back towards his wheel?  Morgan thought it was.  Belle, on the other hand, was not even trying to hide her smile, or the way her eyes followed Rumplestiltskin.  The girl had never looked at him that way before, not with those shining and fascinated eyes, and it made Morgan’s heart beat faster with hope and wonder.

She slipped away before either of the two could notice her presence.  Morgan was certainly not going to ruin this moment.

* * *

 

Belle’s sixth week at the Dark Castle opened with snow.  Big, beautiful, and _wet_ snowflakes covered her windowsill when she woke up, and Belle threw back the covers to run to the window, grinning like a madwoman.  Snow hadn’t fallen often in Marchlands; her home was a temperate place where cold winters came without much in the way of snow.  They received dustings periodically, but that was it.  And this winter at the Dark Castle had been rather mild so far, despite the way the castle was nestled in the mountains; the most they’d gotten was an inch or two of snow, even though it was almost spring.  But today there was a giant blanket of snow covering the courtyard already, and the snowflakes were still coming down.  There had to be at least a foot of snow outside, and the thought of going out in it made Belle dress quickly.

Shortly after she’d been given her own room, Morgan had pointed out the closet that conveniently produced dresses only in Belle’s size.  Having new dresses beat wearing her old ball gown all the time, and Belle had gleefully thrown herself into discovering her new wardrobe.  She favored the two blue and white dresses, of course.  Both were good for working in, though neither was warm enough to wear out in that snow.  So, she chose a maroon and pink dress that had long and comfortable looking sleeves, then skipped down the stairs to find Rumplestiltskin.

He was, of course, spinning at his wheel.  She’d long since realized that he would forget to eat if no one reminded him to.  Morgan often took care of that, but Rumplestiltskin’s mother had disappeared a few days earlier, gone off to who-knew-where, which left Rumplestiltskin in a foul mood.  Belle still couldn’t quite puzzle out the relationship between those two; they seemed to fight more than anything else, but there was clearly a deep and caring bond between them.  Yet Morgan was still gone, and Rumplestiltskin was still pouting.

_Sometimes he acts the giant child, and others the wise old sorcerer,_ she thought to herself, heading into the kitchens to fetch some bread and fruit to give him.  Morgan had refused to take down the magical spells that managed the food after Belle’s second attempt at cooking almost burned down the kitchen, so she could have called for anything she wanted, but Belle knew Rumplestiltskin better than that by now.  She’d be lucky if she could get him to eat the apple and bread she brought, particularly when he was like this.

He didn’t notice her coming back into the hall any more than he’d noticed her initial arrival, so Belle plopped the tray down with a louder clatter than necessary.  “Good morning!”

“Must you be so _cheerful_?” he demanded, obviously trying to look irate.  But Belle noticed that he omitted the usual ‘dearie’ that he would have stuck on the end of the sentence, which meant he wasn’t that annoyed with her.

“It’s snowing outside.”  She couldn’t hold back her grin.

“It’s winter.  It does that.” Rumplestiltskin waved a dismissive hand and turned back to his spinning wheel.

“Not everywhere, silly.”  Belle walked over to grab said hand, not even stopping to think how she wouldn’t have dared do so even a month earlier.  “Come eat breakfast.  You skipped dinner yesterday.  Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“It doesn’t matter.”  He sounded resigned, yet he allowed himself to be led to the table. 

“Why not?”

“Dark Ones don’t need _food_.”  Rumplestiltskin sat down, though, flicking his fingers and conjuring up a chair to his left for her.  Morgan always sat in the one to his right, and Belle usually ate on her own.  Sometimes she shared meals with Morgan when Rumplestiltskin wasn’t around, but she generally didn’t have a place at the table.

She was so startled by the unspoken invitation that it took her a moment to realize that he had to be pulling her leg.  “Everyone needs food.”

“I don’t.”  But he started picking at the bread, anyway.

Belle snagged herself a slice of bread, and then decided that even if Rumplestiltskin didn’t want something more substantial, _she_ did.  “May I have some oatmeal, please?” she asked the castle, and then turned back to Rumplestiltskin as a bowl appeared in front of her.  “I think you’re stretching the truth.”

“Hardly.”  He gave her a toothy but dark smile.  “Only men need food, dearie.”

Oh.  She’d struck some sort of nerve, but Belle wasn’t going to back down.  “Your mother is human.”

“So she is.”  Rumplestiltskin’s giggle used to make her uneasy, but she’d learned that it was a sign that _he_ was uncomfortable, or at least avoiding a subject, so she plowed onwards.  He could always tell her not to ask, after all.

“So, that means you’re at least partially human.  Was your father like you?”

Immediately, a cloud settled over his expression, and his eyes flicked to the distance.  “No.  No, he wasn’t.”

“Then you were once human?”  Somehow, that realization made Belle’s heart skip in relief.  She’d come to care for her troublesome and ornery employer, and knowing that he hadn’t always been a monster was…wonderful.

“What does it matter?”  Rumplestiltskin turned to face her, his eyes suddenly blazing defensively.  “I’m not.  You’re not going to peel away the beast to find some prince charming.”  This time his giggle was higher pitched, angry and amused all at once.  “I am what I am.  Get used to it.”

“I know that.”  And Belle didn’t mind, truly, except when he was unnecessarily cruel.  “I just want to understand.”

He scowled.  “No, you don’t.  No one ever does.”

“Well, maybe I’m not just anyone.”  He’d stopped eating, so Belle reached out to put a hand on his arm, which made him jump.  “Eat your apple.”

Rumplestiltskin’s wide-eyed look was full of priceless confusion.  Belle gave him her gentlest smile.

“Please?”

He ate his apple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter 7—“And So Unsure.”


	7. And So Unsure

Belle waited until that afternoon to drag Rumplestiltskin out into the snow.  By then, the storm had mostly stopped, leaving a few innocent snowflakes floating in the air, and Rumplestiltskin’s sour mood had passed.  She brought him a steaming cup of tea before grabbing his hand and pulling him outside, half surprised (and half not) to find that the protesting Dark One followed her without actually resisting.

“What—what are we doing out here, Belle?” he demanded, looking very out of place in his fine silks and leather pants, surrounded by snow and hardly shivering at all.

The sight made Belle blink, realizing that _she’d_ been sure to bundle up in a warm, fur-lined cloak, but she hadn’t thought to find one for him before pulling Rumplestiltskin outside.  Guilt made her throat tight.  “Are you cold?”

“No…no.  I’m fine.”  He looked adorably confused, and Belle bounced forward to grab his hands.

“Surely even Dark Ones get cold.  Can I get you a cloak?”  If she let him go inside, he’d probably never come out, so Belle didn’t let go of his hands—even though he was looking down at their intertwined fingers like he’d never seen such a thing before.

“I can manage that for myself.”  His smile looked unsure, but Rumplestiltskin tugged one hand free to twirl his fingers, and suddenly he was wrapped in a large blue cloak.

“Good!  Come on, let’s build a snowman.”  Belle started to lead him deeper into the courtyard, but his response made her stop cold.

“A…what?”

“A snow man.”  She turned to face him.  “You’ve done that before, haven’t you?”

When he shook his head wordlessly, Belle felt a part of her heart break.  He’d been human once, but what kind of life had he led?  Swallowing resolutely, she decided that she would ask Morgan about that later.  For now, she would show him how.

“Well, then, I’ll help you build your first.”  She gave him her best smile, and tried to ignore the way her heart fluttered when Rumplestiltskin gave her a timid smile in return.

* * *

 

Morgan returned in the middle of a _snowball_ fight, and at first she thought she’d teleported to the wrong castle.  Where else could she find two overgrown adolescents throwing chunks of icy fluff at one another whilst they giggled?  Belle seemed to be winning, which was no surprise, and even as Morgan stared in shock, the maid nailed Rumplestiltskin right in the face with a snowball.

She jumped even as her son did, expecting the Dark One’s legendary temper to come out, to have to jump in to save the girl (more for Rumplestiltskin’s sake than Belle’s, for she knew that her son cared for Belle).  But Rumplestiltskin only stared, looking utterly dumbfounded.  Belle took advantage of that opportunity to hit him with another snowball, although this one only hit him in the chest.  He blinked, looking down at the snow dripping off of his cloak, and then looked back up at the maid with eyes full of confusion and wonder.

Then his hands came up, and magic swirled in the air as a giant wave of snow picked itself up and landed right on Belle’s head.

“You cheater!”  Belle’s voice was slightly muffled from being under all that snow; Morgan could only see her feet and her hands until she scrambled out from under the miniature mountain.

Much to Morgan’s surprise, when Rumplestiltskin laughed, it was an actual _laugh_ , not that irritatingly high-pitched giggle.  In all of her years living with her son, she had heard that laugh once or twice—and it had taken her a decade to find it.  _Belle has been here for less than two months._  

“Of course I cheated.”  Rumplestiltskin’s grin severely undermined his serious response.  “I have _magic_.”

“Well, I’m clever, and that’s just as good.”  Belle clambered to her feet and walked up to him, flinging a snowball as she went.  Rumplestiltskin dodged—only to fall flat on his rear when Belle pushed him.

“Clever?!” he sputtered.

Belle grinned down at him.  “Clever— _oh!_ ”

As Morgan watched speechlessly, Rumplestiltskin yanked Belle’s cloak hard enough to unbalance her, and suddenly she was in the snow next to him, laughing.

“Now who’s the clever one?” Rumplestiltskin demanded.

“Well, apparently you’re smarter than you look.”  Her cheeky grin took the sting out of the words—or most of it.  Morgan did see the quick flash of self-loathing in her son’s eyes, but she didn’t blame Belle for that.  It took a lot more than six weeks around Rumplestiltskin to understand how, despite the way he used his looks as a weapon, he hated them.

“Well, I’m not the only one,” he drawled, and Belle twisted to look at him.

“What, do you think that women can’t be smart?”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.  “Usually, you get smart, pretty, or nice.  Pick two.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Belle cocked her head, and even from thirty feet away, Morgan could see her son blushing.

“I—um—uh, that is to say that…”

Morgan smiled to herself as he babbled embarrassedly, and turned to head into the castle proper.  She’d leave the children to continue on their merry way; it seemed as if the absolutely unforeseen solution to their problems had arrived in the person of Lady Belle.  Yet she was too distracted, far too pleased with this turn of events, to notice where she was stepping, and her foot found a branch under the snow, sending Morgan stumbling for balance.

“Damn!”

“Mother!” Rumplestiltskin sounded surprised and pleased at the interruption—and no wonder; she had saved him from his inane gibbering.  But when she turned to face him, he also looked a bit like a child who had been caught stealing too many sweets.

_Don’t think of your other boys.  You can no longer save them; they made their choices—save Agravaine, who died far too young,_ she thought heavily.  Rumplestiltskin was what mattered now, and Morgan would give him all the love she was able to.  _All the love I_ should _have given him for his entire life._ Still, that didn’t mean she was going to let on how much she enjoyed seeing him have fun.  If he knew how much she approved of this turn of events, Rumplestiltskin would probably only clam up faster.

“I see the two of you have found something useful to do with the afternoon.”  She allowed herself a small smirk, because she didn’t want her son thinking she _disapproved_.  He was strangely loyal in matters of this ilk, particularly after what happened with Cora.

Belle, however, was clearly no Cora.  Not if she’d started a snowball fight.  That jumped-up miller’s daughter would never have _dreamed_ of doing something so ‘demeaning’; only someone confident in the class she had been born in would ever dare.  _Granted, I’d prefer a princess to a knight’s daughter, but you can’t have everything_.  And Morgan knew she was a bit of a snob.

Rumplestiltskin went predictably red again.  “It’s, um…”

“Fun,” Belle supplied.  “Rumplestiltskin said that he’d never built a snowman before.”

Was the little girl judging her?  Morgan stared at Belle for a long moment, not missing the pointed look she was receiving after that comment.  _Surely he did as a child,_ she tried to tell herself, and then remembered the waste of humanity that she’d left her son with.  The spinsters had been kind to him, according to Rumple, but he’d already been withdrawn and lonely by the time they took him in.  He’d buried himself in learning to be a spinner, so of course he’d never built a snowman.

Morgan refused to let Belle see how much that broke her heart.

“I don’t see a snowman here,” she said archly.

Belle giggled.  “We got a little distracted.”

“I can see that.”  She couldn’t quite tell if Rumplestiltskin was still embarrassed or he was crawling back into his shell.  Either was possible, so she gave him a gentle smile, the one she generally reserved for moments when Belle could not see.  “Then don’t let me stop you.”

Morgan headed inside after that, but the quartet of snowmen—one at least twenty feet tall and clearly built by magic—that decorated the courtyard for the next several weeks certainly did not escape her notice. 

* * *

 

Confusion always made him spin.  It was the only way to clear his mind, the only manner in which he could find enough peace to silence the voices inside his mind.  _And the memories_.  Opening himself up—if that was even what he was doing—always meant reliving old hurts.  When he did choose to sleep, he was plagued of memories of Belle turning into Cora, or Milah, or even Zelena; she always turned on him, always came to hate him.  That was what happened, Rumplestiltskin knew.  The only people who hadn’t abandoned him were his son and his mother, and he’d done the abandoning in Baelfire’s case.

The jury was still out on Morgan, though she had stood by him for decades, now, and Rumplestiltskin could admit that he loved her.  At least to himself.

“Is something wrong?”

Now her voice intruded on his solitude sometime after midnight, when Morgan should have been long since asleep.  Still, that didn’t annoy him as much as it once would have; Rumplestiltskin had grown rather used to having someone to talk to.  His mother was prickly and difficult, yes, but she was _his_ …and he didn’t mind when she interrupted him.  Even if he didn’t want to talk about what was on his mind.

“Why would something be wrong?”  He didn’t turn to face her; Morgan was too good at reading him.  “Nothing’s wrong.  Life is as it has always been.”

“With the exception of the young lady who has been your guest for these last two months?”  Morgan was smiling; Rumplestiltskin could hear it.

He scowled.  “She’s just a maid.”

“Let’s not lie to one another tonight, Rumple.  I’m too tired for that.”

“Then go to bed!”

“No.”

Well, if she was going to be stubborn like that, at least he could still ignore her—at least until his mother put a hand on his shoulder.  She squeezed firmly, turning him on his seat so that he had to look at her.  _Is this some trick that mothers have?  I don’t_ have _to turn around, and yet I always do._ Rumplestiltskin knew that his frown had turned petulant, but he really couldn’t care.  Sometimes, Morgan made him feel like the small child who had never known her.  “What?”

“We need to talk about Belle.”  His mother looked down at him, her expression so serious that Rumplestiltskin had to swallow.

“No we don’t.”  He got up because he couldn’t bear the height imbalance, pacing towards the window nervously.  _The window Belle opened_.  He didn’t want to talk about her, though, particularly with his mother.  He just wanted to have his fantasies in private, to dream of things that could never happen, of companionship he knew he could not have.

_I have a mother.  I never expected that, never_ imagined _anyone would love me enough to stand by me, even when I’m like this,_ he told himself firmly.  _It is more than I deserve.  Expecting—even wanting!—more is foolish.  Particularly since she’s willing to help me find my son._

“Don’t be a fool, Rumple.”  Morgan’s voice grew harder, which made him throw a peek her way.  She was still watching him with the same stony expression, and that made him irrationally angry. 

“I know what I can’t have, Mother.  I am content to—”

“She thought you would rape her, you know.”

“What?  _No!_ ”  The very thought made him backpedal furiously.  Belle had asked him if he expected that of her, but he’d thought she knew better by now.  Hadn’t they become more comfortable with one another?  He’d even started to think that she didn’t fear him. Was he wrong?  Was he fooling himself?

“Not now, you silly boy.”  Morgan’s smile was sad.  “Originally.  She clearly doesn’t believe so any longer.  Have you seen how she looks at you?”

“Like a monster.”  His whisper was bitter, but Rumplestiltskin knew the truth.  He wasn’t good at lying to himself, after all.

“Hardly.”  He heard Morgan stepping closer, but Rumplestiltskin refused to look at her.  Instead, his eyes found the floor.  “You like her, don’t you?”

His giggle wasn’t supposed to sound so nervous.  “So what if I do?  It doesn’t matter.  Beautiful young maidens do _not_ fall for monsters.”

A moment of silence passed, until Morgan finally said: “You don’t know how the story ends if you don’t try.”

“I _have_ tried.  You _met_ Cora.”  Now he looked at her, feeling that old pain rage upwards.  He’d loved Cora so much, and she’d tried to take his dagger.  Then she’d tried to find a genie so that she could _wish_ him into being her slave.  _I would have given her anything, but she never loved me.  She only loved power._

The lesson had been simple: no one could love him.  His mother was the exception, but only because she was his mother.  If she hadn’t been, Morgan probably would have hated him, too.  Even Bae probably hated him, even if Rumplestiltskin was willing to spend a thousand lifetimes groveling for his forgiveness.

“I don’t think Belle is cut from the same mold as Cora, you know,” she said softly.  

Rumplestiltskin just shook his head sadly.  “It doesn’t matter.”

* * *

 

Belle didn’t really do much cleaning these days, but as spring approached, she found herself mopping the front hall more often.  Rumplestiltskin’s guests—often a frightening and unpredictable bunch—didn’t care if they tracked in mud, and Belle refused to live in filth.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t really seem to care if she cleaned or spent all day buried in the marvelous library he had given her, but Belle cared if the castle resembled a pigsty.  It didn’t matter if the floors would miraculously clean themselves overnight (a spell she suspected was Rumplestiltskin’s doing, after he’d tutted over her fight with the mop bucket one day).  She didn’t want them to look terrible when some morning visitor ruined everything with unclean boots and a muddy cloak.

This morning’s visitor had been the Hatter, who had brought his adorable young daughter along.  Watching Rumplestiltskin give young Grace treats and candy had been a little mind-boggling, but the mess the girl had left after exploring the great hall was far less pleasant to contemplate.  The Hatter had just departed—complete with a tangled ball of golden thread tucked in his pocket—so Belle pulled out the mop and decided she’d at least make the mess manageable.

She had just finished the front half of the hall when a red-haired woman strode in, stepping right onto Belle’s clean floors and looking around like she owned the place.  Fortunately, she didn’t bring mud with her, though she still left footprints, much to Belle’s annoyance.  Not that this newcomer appeared to care.  Many of Rumplestiltskin’s visitors were arrogant (though none stayed that way if they crossed him), but this woman certainly stood out from the others.  For one, she held her nose so high that she might have been trying to sniff the clouds.  And she was also _green._

“Who in the world are _you_?” the woman demanded as Belle rang the mop out again.

“The person whose clean floors you’ve just ruined.”  She shouldn’t snap back, Belle knew, but after nearly three months in the Dark Castle, Belle had all but forgotten how to act cowed.

“I am Queen Zelena.  You will show me respect.”  The green-skinned woman looked her up and down with a sneer.  “You’re nothing but a servant.”

Belle couldn’t help the way her chin came up.  “I’m here by choice.” 

Zelena laughed.  “That’s what they all say.  Still, I suppose you’re pretty enough.  Rumple always has liked pretty things.”  Her smile turned vicious.  “Has he plucked your pretty little flower yet?”

“…What?” A moment passed before Belle fully comprehended what Zelena meant, and then she felt herself go red with anger.  “No!  Of course not!”

“Don’t play coy with me, little girl.”  Striding forward, Zelena grabbed Belle by the chin, turning her head this way and that as she inspected her.  Shocked, Belle submitted to the rough treatment for a moment before yanking away—or at least trying to.  Zelena held her firmly, nails digging into Belle’s jaw.  “We both know what kind of monster your master is.”

“He isn’t!”  Finally, Belle managed to wrench away from the witch, even though Zelena’s nails dragged along her jaw painfully as she did so.  “He _wouldn’t_.”

Belle knew now that her early fears about Rumplestiltskin had been needless; he wasn’t the type to take an innocent maid’s virtue away.  _Even if I wish he’d look at me that way, now,_ she thought a little sadly.  Every now and then, Rumplestiltskin said or did something that made Belle wonder if he was attracted to her, but the man was so damned frustrating.  She’d come to realize that he’d never make a move on his own—he was far too unsure.  This idiotic queen, on the other hand, clearly didn’t know him as well as she thought she did.

“Oooh, do you _like_ him?”  Blue eyes gleamed.  “Well, that changes _everything_.  Does he have tender feelings for you, too, or are you just pining after him?”

“That’s none of your business.”  Belle hoped she wasn’t blushing.

“No, you’re not his type,” Zelena decided, sneering again.  “Too pure and innocent.  He wants someone _darker._ ”

Was that envy Belle could hear in Zelena’s voice?  Either way, the possessive lilt that the other woman’s voice took on was downright terrifying, sending a shiver down Belle’s spine.  She’d heard of Zelena, of course; they called her the Wicked Queen.  She’d married Good King Leopold, giving him smiles and coy looks, promising him that she’d make a good mother for her stepdaughter.  Of course, she’d ended up murdering her husband soon enough, making Princess Snow run to her good friend, Lady Regina, for help.  Lady Regina had defended the Princess, but _her_ husband and father had died at Zelena’s hands, and now both were on the run.  Zelena’s reputation pegged her as slightly mad and utterly merciless; rumors said she had a harem of heartless men locked in her castle, bound to serve her every desire.  So, what was she doing _here_?  And why did she care about Rumplestiltskin’s entirely-too-elusive romantic feelings?

“What he wants is for you to stop invading his castle and harassing the help, dearie.” Rumplestiltskin’s voice was unusually high-pitched and sharp.  Belle could tell he was annoyed, but she was very glad to see him.

Zelena gave her the creeps, even when she cocked her head and gave Rumplestiltskin an innocent smile.

“Oh, don’t be so unwelcoming, Rumple.  You know you love seeing me.”  Sweeping forward—and utterly forgetting Belle, much to Belle’s relief—she tried to reach a hand out to stroke Rumplestiltskin’s red silk vest.

He batted the hand away.  “What do you want?”

“A little privacy would be nice,” Zelena cooed.  Then she twisted to glare at Belle.  “That one lusts after you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”  Under other circumstances, watching Rumplestiltskin sputter might have been amusing.  Right now, it just seemed dangerous.  Fortunately, he seemed to realize that, and snapped back on balance quickly enough to give Belle whiplash.  “She’s merely buttering me up for better treatment.  She’s a smart girl.”

“I prefer my servants dumb and heartless.”  She bounced towards Belle, giving Rumplestiltskin a glowing smile over her shoulder.  “Shall I do it for you?  Consider it a favor.”

“That won’t be necessary.”  Rumplestiltskin’s glare could have melted steel, but Zelena didn’t stop—not until another voice spoke up:

“If you try to take her heart, I will take yours.” 

Spinning, Belle stared at Morgan with wide eyes.  She hadn’t even been sure if Rumplestiltskin’s mother _liked_ her, but she was defending her?  The older woman stood with her arms crossed and her expression stormy, and the danger exuding from her seemed to make Zelena hesitate.

“Why do _you_ care about the little chit?”

“She’s my servant.”  The lie made Belle gape for a moment, but she snapped her mouth shut.  Fortunately, Zelena wasn’t watching her at all.

“Yours?”  Zelena scowled.  “What do need a servant for?  You’re too busy teaching my stupid sister how to hide from me!”

“Oh, that doesn’t take up much of my time.”  Morgan’s laugh was dry.  “Regina’s a good student.”

Rumplestiltskin tried a little too obviously not to snicker.  Zelena looked more affronted than Belle thought was humanly possible.  Could someone with green skin turn bright red with anger?  Apparently so.

“ _What?_   You—”

“Come along, Belle.  We have things to do.” 

Morgan beckoned imperiously, and Belle thought it best not to argue.  Part of her desperately wanted to see what happened; she knew that Rumplestiltskin could make mincemeat of Zelena if he so chose, but she didn’t know _why_ the Wicked Queen was there.  She was ridiculously curious, but she really didn’t want to gather any more of Zelena’s attention to herself.

_I thought I was giving myself to the worst monster of them all.  Who would have thought that there are far darker monsters, and that the ‘Beast’ could be so kind?_   Belle had expected to sacrifice her life, or at least her virtue, not to enter a fascinating magical world full of knowledge and a prickly-but-adorable Dark One.  And his mother.  Belle could not forget Morgan, particularly as Morgan led her into what Belle could only guess were Morgan’s own chambers.  They actually looked rather like Belle’s own, although the colors were darker and the room not quite as airy.  Morgan seemed to favor greens and purples, but the furniture looked both comfortable and inviting, even if Belle felt strangely out of place invading Morgan’s private abode.

They stood in silence for a long moment, and then Morgan sank into a high-backed chair with a sigh.

“Thank you.”  Belle swallowed hard.  “I don’t know what I would have done if she’d tried to take my heart.”

Morgan barked out a laugh.  “Oh, Rumplestiltskin would have stopped her, and then we’d be in an even bigger mess than we already are.”

“What do you mean ‘mess’?”

“Zelena isn’t green because she wants to be, or because of some curse, girl.  She’s green because she’s _envious_ , and now she’s chosen you as her new target.  Or started to, anyway.”

Belle frowned.  “I don’t understand.”

“Sit down.”  Morgan gestured at a chair near her own, and Belle sat slowly, trying to wrap her mind around what Morgan was saying.  But it made no _sense_!  Morgan, however, simply sighed again.  “Zelena lusts after Rumplestiltskin.  She has ever since he started teaching her magic.”

“What does that have to do with me?”  Belatedly, Belle realized that a normal girl might have asked why Zelena lusted after Rumplestiltskin…but Belle couldn’t blame her.  His looks were strange, yes, a little alien and sometimes frightening, but she was beginning to see the good heart beneath all of his darkness.

“She views you as a rival.”

“As a what?” Her laugh had turned nervous, and Belle’s heart was hammering against her ribcage.  _Rumplestiltskin would have stopped her,_ Morgan had said.

“Do you have feelings for my son?  Romantic feelings?”  Morgan met her eyes squarely, and Belle felt herself shrinking back, just a little.

“I…I don’t know.  It’s—it’s hard.”  She licked her lips nervously.  “There’s a darkness festering inside him that makes it hard.”

“He’s cursed.  I love him despite that, but I am his mother.  That simplifies matters greatly.  At least for me.”  Morgan’s smile was small, and so very sad.  “You have no obligations to him, yet you have befriended him anyway.  Tell me truly: is this you trying to find a way out of your admittedly uncomfortable predicament, or is there something more?”

“I want there to be.”  Admitting that made her feel a little freer, and Belle found herself smiling.  “But can he love?  Like this?”

“Yes.  Unequivocally.” 

Belle almost didn’t ask the next question, but she _had_ to.  She’d never been the type to run away when faced with something difficult, but she needed to know before she lost her heart any further.  “Can he love _me_?”

Morgan laughed softly.  “Why do you think we’re having this conversation?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter 8—“Looking for the Wrong Answers,” in which Morgan looks for ways to help her son and Rumplestiltskin and Belle draw ever closer.


	8. Looking for the Wrong Answers

The girl had changed everything, even if Morgan was certain that Belle hadn’t meant to.  Still, the fact that her son had _fallen_ for his maid, added up to his ability to love his lost son, and even his mother—she hoped—told a far different story than Morgan had expected.  She had hoped, in her heart of hearts, that she would find a way to free Rumplestiltskin of his curse even as she worked to help him find her grandson, but she had always told herself it was impossible.  Now, however…now, she was not so certain.

There was only one answer, one way to make sense of this mess.  She had to get Merlin out of his blasted tree and convince him to free her son.  _Yet there’s that pesky Savior prophecy, and you know that there isn’t exactly a handy Savior wandering around,_ she thought irritably, teleporting herself to the small cottage where the Apprentice lived.  Rumplestiltskin had already run afoul of the old man, having asked him for help reaching the Land Without Magic.  The Apprentice had refused, of course, and he’d said the same to Morgan when she had visited him last.  _My magic will not create a portal for the Dark One,_ the old man—who was actually younger than her, though he didn’t appear to be—had said.  Morgan had barely resisted the urge to curse him into oblivion.  Had Rumplestiltskin been looking to reach any other realm, she simply would have demanded a portal for herself, and thus fetched her grandson…but there would be no returning from the Land Without Magic.  They would have to go together.

“My answer remains the same, My Lady.”  His voice came from behind her, a cheap and petty trick if there ever was one.

Morgan turned, refusing to show her annoyance.  “My question does not.”

The Apprentice inclined his head politely, looking surprised.  “Then if there is something within the limits of my power, I will help you.”

“It’s not your power I need.”  She saw no reason not to be blunt.  “I need Merlin’s.”

“He will not draw the Dark One a portal either.”  He frowned deeply, and Morgan resisted the urge to shake him.  _Spending decades with Rumplestiltskin has_ not _done anything good for my impulse control._

“You mistake my intentions, Michael.”  Morgan crossed her arms, enjoying the way his face twitched when she used the name everyone else had forgotten.

“Do I?  I seem to recall that you believe the current Dark One is different from his predecessors.”

 _That’s because he is._ But saying that was pointless.  Instead, Morgan replied: “I’m not having this argument with you.  I need to speak to Merlin.”

“You know where he is.”  The Apprentice shrugged.  “I cannot free him.  It will take a Savior to do so.”

“No, that’s merely what his prophecy says.  You and I both know there’s always a loophole, and Merlin wasn’t always right.”  Morgan could think of a half dozen of Merlin’s prophecies that had been wrong—that was the risk of being a Seer.  You often saw what _could_ be amongst the insane number of puzzle pieces.

“I cannot help you.  I know no way to release Merlin from his prison.”

“From his tree, you mean.”  Morgan scowled.

“Yes.”  He eyed her warily.  “What do you want him for?”

“That’s my business.”

“If it concerns your son the Dark One—”

“Don’t,” Morgan cut him off.  “I already know your thoughts on the matter, so I will ask you kindly not to say it.  For a man who claims to know that curse, to understand what it _does_ to the host, you’re remarkably blind to the human underneath the darkness.”

“And you’re uncharacteristically naive if you think he will ever be anything other than what he is,” the Apprentice huffed.  “Rumplestiltskin made his choices.  He will have to live with them, and then die as they all do.”

 _I am not so sure on that front_.  But she didn’t say that, either; it would have been useless.  Instead, Morgan merely shook her head and teleported away, not even bothering to say goodbye.  She would have to find another way to Merlin—or, perhaps, Belle’s love might yet suffice.  If only she could get the fool boy to admit that he loved the girl as well.

* * *

 

King George had just put himself on the list of people Zelena needed to kill.

He _knew_ that she liked Prince James.  And she was a _queen_ , ruling her own kingdom.  Why would he want to look any further than that?  James was fond of her, too; in fact, Zelena knew he was most of the way in love with her.  But his idiot of a father had decided that _Princess Abigail_ would suit his purposes better, all because Midas had an unfortunately golden touch?  It was ridiculous!  And now James was off fighting some stupid creature or another, all because Midas had issues and he couldn’t call upon someone logical to deal with them.  Really, how hard could it be to get rid of a dragon?  Only an idiot would set up a prince to fight said dragon to prove that prince was worthy of his pasty-faced daughter.

Zelena was of half a mind to go interfere in that little test and claim James as her own.  George was almost as stupid as Midas for going along with this.  Yes, she’d cut trade off to his little kingdom—she didn’t really care why Rumple had wanted that—but surely George realized that if _James_ could win her over, that little problem would go away.  It was all so stupid.  Yes, she should go and—

“Your Majesty?”  One of her guards poked his head in the throne room, looking a little nervous.

“What is it now?”  She couldn’t remember his name.  Was it Colin?  Cameron?  Maybe Claude, though that didn’t sound right.  Not knowing made Zelena scowl, even though it shouldn’t.  _She_ was queen.  She didn’t have to remember things like guards’ names.

“You have a visitor.  A pirate captain, who says he’s here to talk to you about ‘mutual profit’ of some sort.”

“A pirate captain?”  Zelena stopped her wild pacing and turned to glare at her guard.  “Then why is he outside, you fool?  Send him in!”

She was surrounded by fools, but there was naught to do about that.  Sighing, Zelena lowered herself gracefully onto her throne and waited for the pirate captain to arrive.  At least _this_ should be interesting…and he turned out to be rather handsome, too.  She always did enjoy a pretty face.

* * *

 

“Can I…ask you something?” Belle asked Morgan a week or so after their conversation about Rumplestiltskin. 

Belle had thought a lot about her feelings for Rumplestiltskin in that week, and thought even more about what Morgan had said.  She was terribly attracted to him, even with his scaly skin and wild hair.  Truth was, she didn’t really care about his looks.  She liked his hesitant smile, the sweetness he tried so hard to hide, and the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the room.  She _knew_ that he liked her, even when Rumplestiltskin tried so hard to act casually, and that knowledge made Belle’s heart flutter wildly.  And yet…she wasn’t some starry-eyed girl who thought every story had a happy ending.  Belle needed to _know_.

Morgan turned to face her, arching an eyebrow.  “It depends on what you’re asking.”

“It’s about Rumplestiltskin.”  Belle took a deep breath.  “I don’t understand him.”

“That’s because the fool boy is difficult by nature.”  Morgan snorted, and then her voice softened slightly.  “He doesn’t know what he wants, so figuring it out can be challenging.”

The abrasive first half of that answer still made Belle blink, despite the way Morgan added the last part.  She really didn’t understand the relationship between mother and son; sometimes, they seemed so very close, and other times, they shouted and threw things at one another, including fireballs.  _Well, that was only once.  And it_ was _Rumple throwing it, though Morgan sent it back at him._ She _thought_ there was a deep love between the two, yet what kind of mother called their son a ‘fool boy’?  It didn’t make sense, and Belle didn’t dare get any deeper into this mess until she understood what in the world was going on.

 “He said he’d never made a snowman.”  The words blurted out before she could figure out what else to say.

“So?”

Belle stared, unable to comprehend how Morgan could answer so…dismissively.  And that made her bristle on Rumplestiltskin’s behalf.  “Children make snowmen.  What kind of childhood did he have, if he never made a snowman?”

“What do snowmen have to do with childhood?” Morgan blinked, looking at her like she was speaking nonsense.  “Are you implying something is wrong with my son?”

“No.”  Even though she was, Belle wasn’t going to say so.  “I just…I just don’t understand him.  I don’t understand how he could wind up like this, with all that evil wrapped up in him, and—”

“He’s the Dark One.  Evil and darkness come with the territory, and with his curse.”  Morgan shrugged.  “If you think I’m pleased with that, you’re very much mistaken.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“No, you simply said everything _but_.”  The older woman seemed to visibly pull back her temper.  “Now, if you’re going to ask me something, you’d best simply do so.  And do be straightforward.”

If she wanted direct, Belle could be direct.  She met Morgan’s eyes brazenly.  “How did Rumplestiltskin get like this?  Under all that, he’s lonely and he’s skittish, and he’s never even made a snowman.  If that’s not a sign of something worse, I don’t know what is.”

“Such as _what_?” Morgan’s voice grew ominously soft, but Belle had forgotten how to fear the pair of terrifying sorcerers she lived with.

“You asked me if I could love him,” Belle snapped.  “But I’m starting to wonder if _anyone_ has ever loved him unconditionally.  Or at all.”

Morgan’s face went stark white, and for a moment, Belle thought sorceress might slap her.  But that moment passed as Morgan took a deep breath, drawing herself up stiffly.  “You know nothing of which you speak, _child_.”  Her voice dripped liquid fury.  “Stick to your storybooks and adventure tales.  If you are looking for a simple and idyllic world, that is the only place you will find one.”

Belle jerked back, shocked by the fierceness of that reaction.  “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to imply that—”

“Oh, yes you did.”   Morgan rolled her eyes.  “You have lived a terribly sheltered life, _Lady_ Belle.  Even the ‘monster’ you traded yourself to has treated you with nothing but respect.   You know nothing of the cruelties of the world.  Do not think to judge anyone based on what you have or have not seen.”

“I’m sorry.  I’m not that sheltered, I just…” But Belle trailed off.  There wasn’t any use in finishing the sentence when Morgan had already stormed out.

She hadn’t meant to imply that Morgan lacked as a mother, had she?  Yet Belle couldn’t help feeling that Morgan _did_.  How could anyone, particularly someone as powerful as Morgan, allow their son to become the Dark One?  Belle had read enough books, and eavesdropped on enough conversations in the Dark Castle, to understand that Rumplestiltskin hadn’t been born the Dark One.  He was human beneath his curse—even Morgan had said so.  Morgan claimed to love him, yet she clearly hadn’t stopped him from becoming the newest Dark One whenever it had happened. Belle hadn’t managed to find a lot of information on exactly _how_ someone gained that horrible curse, yet she had found references to previous Dark Ones. 

Therefore, logic said that if Rumplestiltskin had become the Dark One, his mother had certainly been aware of what was happening.  And Belle couldn’t imagine loving someone and letting them be corrupted by so much darkness—not if she could stop it.  Something didn’t fit, but she just couldn’t figure out what.

 

* * *

 

He felt guilty.

That was the only possible explanation for the sickly tight feeling in his stomach, for the way he wanted to drink himself under the table—a difficult proposition when the Dark One, even when one wanted to get drunk.  He’d emptied his flask at the farmstead without feeling much, though, and now that he was back in the Dark Castle, Rumplestiltskin had already fetched a bottle of something stronger.  Having finished that, however, he lacked the motivation to go get a second one.  Or maybe he just thought he deserved to feel so horrible.  _I took a son from a loving parent.  I am_ _the monster they all take me for._

 _Even worse, I took_ both _of her children away._

Yet if he’d let George have his way, it would have been threats and armed men fetching the shepherd away from his mother.  George would have himself a replacement son, one way or another, and he wouldn’t have given David a choice.  Rumplestiltskin had, and he’d been impressed by the young man’s desire to save his family farm.  Even then, he still felt guilty, because Rumplestiltskin knew David’s time as a prince would not end with dragonslaying.  No, he’d Seen what would come, had always known that one of Ruth’s sons would find Snow White and True Love.  Of course, given that Princess Snow was now a bandit on the run, she could very well stumble upon that farmstead…but he didn’t think she would.

No.  While the thought of tearing a child away from a loving parent had made him drink, the sick knowledge that George wouldn’t let this new ‘son’ go made him stop.  Rumplestiltskin knew the pieces he’d put into play, and he was monster enough to do nothing to stop George.  He _needed_ David to meet Snow, needed the two to fall in love and fight for one another.  He wasn’t precisely sure how it was going to happen, but Rumplestiltskin knew that it would.  And their daughter—

_Crash._

Leaping to his feet, Rumplestiltskin whirled around to see the door to his tower workroom open and Belle flailing in the doorway.  His pretty little maid had managed to bump into the enchanted suit of armor that he’d been working on the day before, and even as he watched, she struggled for balance, her arms windmilling wildly.  That, of course, made her drop the tea service she’d been carrying, and the tray started to flip over as she gasped in horror.  Belle dove for the tray, but it was far too late—until Rumplestiltskin snapped his fingers irritably and teleported the entire tray (pot, cups, biscuits, and all) onto a nearby table.

Belle caught herself and gave him an embarrassed smile, brushing hair out of her face.  “Thank you.” 

“Can’t have you breaking my favorite cup again, can we?” He tried to give her a nasty look, but somehow it came out as almost a smile.  He didn’t know what it was about the girl—or, fine, maybe he did—but looking at her flustered-but-grateful expression warmed his heart.

 _You don’t have a heart to warm.  It’s a black lump of nothing,_ Zoso reminded him, but Rumplestiltskin shook his head to chase the voice of his predecessor away.  He didn’t care what Zoso thought.  He never had.

“No.  Of course not.”  Belle gave him a cheeky smile, but there was something off in her eyes.

Rumplestiltskin peered at her curiously.  “Why so clumsy?  It’s not like you to trip.”

“You moved the suit of armor.”

“Eh, no.  It moved itself.  Technically.”

“With _your_ magic.”  She gave him a droll look, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help giggling.

“But not by my doing!”  He sing-songed the words at her, but Belle just rolled her eyes.  Normally, however, she would have laughed, and the difference made Rumplestiltskin cock his head.  “The tea’s getting cold, you know.”

She shrugged.  “I didn’t think you’d notice with so much alcohol on your breath.”

“I—” Rumplestiltskin chopped the word off, drawing back.  “I don’t see what business of yours that is.”

“It’s probably not.”  She met his eyes, and for once, Rumplestiltskin found her bravery more off-putting than enticing.  “But why the most powerful sorcerer in all the realms need to drink?”

“Perhaps I like to.”

“A whole bottle?”  Belle’s lip curled up in disgust as she picked up the empty bottle.  “Isn’t that a little extreme?”

Rumplestiltskin reached out and snatched the bottle away from her.  So what if it _was_ empty?  He certainly wasn’t going to drown his sorrows by telling _her_ how he’d let go of his beloved son, only to turn around and force a different parent to do the same thing centuries later.  “I’m the Dark One, dearie.  I _live_ in extremes.”

“I’ve noticed.”  Crossing her arms, she faced him fully, and the intense concern in her eyes took him aback.  “And I don’t…I don’t understand you.  How could someone so kind revel in so much darkness?”

 _She thinks me kind?_   “I’m not kind.”  The words came out automatically.

“But you can be.  Sometimes you’re very kind.”

Rumplestiltskin didn’t know what to say to that; he had to snap his mouth shut when it threatened to dangle open longer than necessary.

“But you’re so miserable.  You’re not _happy_ like this, even when you say you are.”  Belle stepped forward, putting a hand on his arm that Rumplestiltskin found himself staring at.  _She’s touching me.  Me?_   Fair maidens were not supposed to touch the terrible monster gently, yet here they were.  Bringing his eyes up to meet Belle’s took a supreme effort as she continued:  “What happened to you?  What could be so horrible that it would make you _want_ to be this?”

Rumplestiltskin blinked at her owlishly, trying to wrap his mind around the words she’d said.  She couldn’t possibly care about him, or about the desperation that had led him to become the Dark One.  It had to be a trick.  A ploy to discover his weaknesses.  There was no other explanation. She was just luring him into a dangerous complacency, that was all.  He knew this trick, knew where it led.

“And why would _you_ care?” he snapped, finally remembering to pull away from her warm touch.  His arm felt cold where her hand had been, but Rumplestiltskin refused to let himself think about that.  “You don’t care about me!”

“You’re my friend.”  She looked stricken, like he’d slapped her.  _Maybe you should,_ Nimue suggested.  _She’s trying to use you, just like Cora.  Preying on your foolish desire to be_ loved.  _But you know she could never love you!_

_Shut up!_

“Employer, dearie.  That’s what I am,” Rumplestiltskin spat, backing up a step—before lunging forward to invade her personal space.  That always intimidated people.  “And I’ve clearly been lax on that front, now, haven’t I?”

“No, you haven’t.”  Belle met him glare for glare, and not admiring her courage was a struggle.  _She doesn’t care.  They never do!_   “You can be downright beastly at times!”

“Well, I’m glad I’m living up to my reputation.”  The smile he gave her was sharp and reptilian, but Belle only shook her head sadly.

“Who hurt you so much that you can’t believe someone can care about you?” she whispered.

 _My father.  The town I grew up in.  My wife._ But he couldn’t verbalize that.  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t going to sound weak, not in front of Belle or anyone else.  He was the Dark One, and he was the most powerful sorcerer in all the realms.  He’d worked for that title, too, learning and growing and becoming a more educated Dark One than any of his predecessors.  Yet none of that erased the pain of having been abandoned, reviled, hated, and shunned.  None of that changed what the gravedigger’s boys had done to him when he was ten, or the way Hordor and the other guards had looked the other way when people had stolen the weak spinner’s wares.  Everyone had hated him.  _Everyone but my aunts, my boy, and my—_

Belle continued hesitantly when he didn’t answer, reaching for his arm again.  “If it was something your mother did…”

“My _what_?” Rumplestiltskin snarled the word, fury whipping through him.  How dare Belle put this on Morgan?  His mother was far from perfect, but she was the _only_ one who had seen him for what he was and not turned away.  Bae had hated the Dark One, Cora had only wanted his power, Zelena was her mother’s daughter in every way, and even Belle thought he was a monster.  But Morgan had laughed off the worst of his moods, had promised to help him find _Bae_.  The next sentence bellowed out with the force of thunder.  “How _dare you?_ ”

Belle flinched.  “I just meant to say that you don’t have to be alone.  That—”

“Get out!”

“I want to help you.  I want to understand.”  Blue eyes beseeched him to listen, but Rumplestiltskin had heard enough.  “Please, Rumple.  Let me help.”

“I don’t need your help.  Particularly if you’re going to insult my _mother_.”  He barely had a grip on his temper; the darkness boiling up inside him wanted to tear her to shreds.  Yet a little corner of the man Rumplestiltskin had been refused to let that happen, particularly when Belle looked so devastated.

“If it wasn’t her, I’m sorry, I just thought—”

He stepped forward, leaning right into her face and summoning all the darkness and intimidation he had.  _“Get out!”_

“I’m not afraid of you!”

“You should be!”  _Hit her.  Hurt her.  Grind her under your heel._   He couldn’t tell which Dark One was speaking; the chorus urging him to hurt Belle was a cascade of multiple voices.  Furious, Rumplestiltskin whirled to the nearby tea tray, grabbing the second closest cup, and flinging it in her general direction.  _Make her fear you._

He was careful not to hit her, of course.  Or to grab _his_ cup, which was already chipped and did not deserve to be broken.  But the cup he’d chosen did make a satisfying _crash_ as it shattered against the far wall, making Belle jump.  _Cut her.  Make her bleed._ Zoso was practically drooling on Rumplestiltskin’s synapses, but he ignored him as Belle backed away a few steps.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” she demanded.

“Get out.”  Grabbing another teacup, he turned slowly to face her, his voice deadly quiet, now.  _Poor burning tea on her face.  See if she’s so arrogant then,_ Nimue advised.

 _Shut up.  Just shut up!_   He couldn’t take the shouting any longer; he was going to go mad if he didn’t get away from her.

Or he was going to hurt her, and as angry as Rumplestiltskin was, he didn’t want to do that.

“Fine.  I will leave, but only because civilized people don’t throw teacups at one another during a conversation.”  Belle spun on her heel to leave, only pausing in the doorway to deliver a parting shot: “I’m not finished with you, Rumplestiltskin.”

“Yes, you are, dearie!”

He didn’t care if he sounded like a petulant child.  Rumplestiltskin _knew_ she didn’t care about him, particularly if she felt the need to insult his mother.  He even threw another teacup at the door for good measure when Zoso started taunting him again, listening to its satisfying _splat_ as Belle hurried down the stairs.  She only wanted to figure out his weaknesses.  In fact, Belle probably wanted to find a way to split him apart from his mother, because she was smart enough to figure out that Morgan was the only one he actually trusted.  How _could_ Belle say what she’d said?  Rumplestiltskin had started to like her, and…and…

 _Kill the girl, and everything will go back to the way it was,_ Nimue advised him, but angry though he was, Rumplestiltskin couldn’t quite listen to that.

He still refused to come out of the tower for the next two days out of spite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, the backstory here is going to incorporate more of the season 5 Camelot canon than Ruins of Camelot did. Unlike ROC, Merlin was never the Dark One, and he’s still stuck in that tree. Pretty much, assume all canon backstory through season 5 is valid.
> 
> Next up: Chapter 9—“Something That Wasn’t There Before,” in which Morgan realizes she’s caused a rift between her son and Belle…and the Apprentice offers Belle help escaping Rumplestiltskin.


	9. More Than They’ve Got Planned

Three days passed before Morgan realized that her son was avoiding the maid.  Two weeks earlier, there’d been hints of a budding romance between the two, and now Rumplestiltskin was snappish and nasty when he did see Belle, worse than he’d been even in the beginning.  Morgan was half surprised that Rumplestiltskin hadn’t thrown Belle back in the dungeon, though she had no idea why he was so angry.  Of course, given that she was rather displeased with the girl herself led Morgan to ignore the problem at first, but after another day of it, she realized that she was being a fool.

_If Merlin is stuck in that tree, he’ll never be able to free Rumplestiltskin.  That only leaves one option…even if it’s a dangerous option at best._ Morgan knew that True Love’s Kiss could break any curse, but what manner in which the Dark One’s curse ‘broke’ had never been tested.  Such a kiss could unleash the darkness to torment someone else, leaving Rumplestiltskin a powerless cripple once more, which he would hate.  Yet his soul would be free… _if_ he and Belle could share True Love.  Morgan wasn’t sure if that was possible, even for a Dark One as full of love as her son, but there would be no way to find out if Rumplestiltskin kept avoiding the girl.

As usual, that meant it was up to her to knock sense into her boy, and Morgan strode into his tower with a purpose, noticing the three or four shattered teacups near the door.  “What in the world has angered you so, Rumplestiltskin?”

“Nothing.”

He didn’t even turn to look at her, keeping his eyes on whatever project he was working on like a petulant child or a distracted academic.   _Only he could combine those two so well._ Morgan sighed.

“Two weeks ago, you were laughing and throwing snowballs at Belle.  Now you refuse to talk to her.  What happened?”

A long moment of silence passed.  “She’s a naive fool.”

“She was that when you started liking her.”  Morgan snorted.  “She has _always_ been that.  I thought you found it endearing.”

That finally earned her a glare.  “She pretends to care for me.  She doesn’t.”

“I think she does,” she said softly, moving forward to stand at Rumplestiltskin’s side.  Thankfully, he didn’t pull away; he only laughed bitterly.  “And she understands more than you might think.”

“Of course she doesn’t.”  A vicious snort.  “As if she could even understand the half of it.  She’s never known desperation in her life.”

The words were so close to the ones Morgan had uttered that it took her aback.  She let out a slow breath, forcing herself to be honest instead of just agreeing with her son out of spite.  “Nobility isn’t a shield against being a desperate soul, you know.”

Morgan _had_ been born a princess, after all.  Yet she knew hopelessness all too well.  For all that she’d called Belle sheltered, Morgan wasn’t blind to the fact that she’d sacrificed herself to save her small kingdom from the ogres.  Being willing to do that indicated a serious amount of courage—not to mention a deep and desperate need to make a difference that Morgan recognized all too easily.  Despite her words, she rather liked the young noblewoman; Belle was kind and smart, and she had brought a softer side out of Rumplestiltskin than Morgan had dreamed could exist.  She loved her son very well for what he was, yet she had never hoped he might love someone the way she was growing to suspect he loved Belle.

Unfortunately, he well and truly had his back up, now, and was hardly in a receptive mood.  His scowl alone told the tale, particularly when he only snorted in response.

“ _She_ angered you.  How?” Something must have happened, but for the life of her, Morgan couldn’t figure out what.

“By existing.”

“ _Rumplestiltskin_.”  She grated his name out, fighting the urge to shake sense into her son.  Or to hug him.  Trying to do so would be counterproductive, though.  Physical contact with Rumplestiltskin was always a chancy proposition; he craved it, but sometimes he reacted terribly.

He ignored her.

“You can tell me now or tell me later, but either way, I will know.”  Morgan fixed her best glare on the back of his head, but the effort it was wasted.  Rumplestiltskin barely twitched.

So she waited.  By now, Morgan knew her son. She knew his neuroses, and she knew that her stubborn silence would drive him mad.  He was perfectly capable of out-waiting her, yet he _wouldn’t_ —not when he didn’t have a pressing reason to do so.  Seconds ticked by, and then minutes, with Morgan simply watching her son, until the words finally exploded out of Rumplestiltskin in a snarl.

“She insulted _you._ ”  He turned to glare at Morgan like this was her fault, and after a moment, she began to wonder if it might just be.

“I can defend my own honor, thank you.”  Still, she kept the words more gentle than she might have otherwise; the fact that Rumplestiltskin was offended on her behalf touched Morgan.  “And I may well have deserved the insult, anyway.  What did she say?”

Her even tone made Rumplestiltskin twist to glare at her.  “She implied that it’s _your_ fault that I’m the Dark One.”  A nasty giggle.  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve _ever_ heard.  Or wait.  Perhaps not.  Although it’s certainly close.  The girl has no brains to speak of.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“ _I’m_ being ridiculous?” Rumplestiltskin reared back, looking shocked—but his acting was comically terrible, even if he probably didn’t mean it to be.  “She insulted _you_ , and you’re calling _me_ ridiculous?”

“Of course I am.”  Morgan sighed.  “You’re acting like it.  And you care for the girl, so stop pretending you don’t.  She made a mistake.  Surely you know how easy that is to do.”

His glare turned poisonous.  “I don’t—I don’t have to put up with this, even from you!  If you think—oh, nevermind.”

Something broken flickered in Rumplestiltskin’s reptilian eyes before he stormed out, and all Morgan could do was sigh again as she watched him go.  Chasing him would do no good; he’d worked himself up over this one and wasn’t going to back down any time soon.  She loved him, but that didn’t mean she didn’t _understand_ him, and Morgan could see what the source of his actual anger was.  Rumplestiltskin was hurting, feeling betrayed.  _He is really starting to care for the girl, and my little spat with her has bled over to him._   She really had created a mess, hadn’t she?

* * *

 

Belle was half surprised that Rumplestiltskin hadn’t thrown her back in the dungeon.  Her employer certainly had avoided her like the plague ever since he’d thrown _teacups_ at her like a barbarian, and he’d barked at her to get out any time she came near him.  In her opinion, that was a ridiculous overreaction to the argument they’d had—particularly since he’d been halfway to drunk at the time!  She’d tried to apologize once, but he’d threatened to turn her into a teapot and then teleported away before she could say another word, so Belle had taken to avoiding Rumplestiltskin in return.  He hadn’t restricted her access to the library, so she stayed there as much as she could, taking her meals in the kitchen as days ticked by. 

Morgan didn’t seem inclined to speak to her, either, though, and Belle was beginning to find her life incredibly lonely.  At least she could understand Morgan’s anger a little better; Belle was smart enough to realize that she’d made quite a mess out of their last conversation, and then she’d compounded things by her assumption that Morgan had pushed Rumplestiltskin into becoming the Dark One.  _She seemed so blasé about his darkness, though,_ Belle thought, thumbing through a book without really looking at the pages.  _How could any mother accept that horrible evil festering in her son?_

“I didn’t raise him.”

The voice made her jump, and then Belle turned on the settee she’d been sitting on to stare at Morgan.  The older woman stood in the doorway, looking tired rather than angry, and offered Belle a shrug when she stared in surprise.

“You didn’t?”

“No.”  Morgan walked into the room slowly, staring blankly out the window.  “I left him with his father at birth.  I thought…well, I thought it was for the best.  I was wrong.”

Belle had to blink.  “I don’t understand.  Why would you do that?”  _And why tell me?_ she almost added, but stopped herself  just time.  Any chance to get information on her mysterious Dark One was worth jumping at.

“I am half fae.  I had hoped he would show magic of his own, so that he could come with me, but he did not.”  Morgan’s grimace spoke volumes.  “But it seems that magic runs in his blood, and he found his way to darkness, just as I once did.  Although Rumplestiltskin does seem to take everything to its possible extreme.”

“You can say that again.”  Belle almost chuckled, but the conversation was too serious.  And she wanted to know far too much to get derailed.  “So…what happened to him?”

“His worthless father turned out to be more cowardly than I expected.”  A mother’s grimace.  “I…well, most of it is not my story to tell, but Rumplestiltskin’s life was not an easy one.  And he grew desperate enough to take on the power you now see.”

“Desperate?” 

“Yes.”  Morgan sighed heavily.  “That is not my story to tell.  I left him, after all.”  She hesitated for a long moment as Belle watched regret and pain play over her face, and then finally whispered: “You asked if anyone had ever loved him unconditionally.  The answer is that few enough people have, and he has always suffered for it.”

Swallowing hard, Belle groped for words.  She could not understand how _any_ mother could abandon her child, and yet Morgan clearly regretted that choice.  Part of her wanted to yell at Morgan, to demand how she could have hurt someone so fragile so terribly, but Morgan was obviously berating herself for that far more harshly than Belle ever would.  Now she could understand a little, at least.  The obvious love between Rumplestiltskin and his mother—not to mention his furious defense of her—indicated that Rumplestiltskin had forgiven Morgan for leaving him with his father, and that he didn’t blame her.  Still, this new knowledge left her with even more questions.

“Is this your castle, then?” she asked after a moment.  “I saw children’s clothes upstairs, clothes for a young boy.  I assumed they were his.”

“Oh, no.  I came here only a few decades ago.”  Morgan’s smile was faint but proud.  “Rumplestiltskin took this castle off of a sorcerer who made even the Dark One look kind and gentle.”

“He often is.”  Belle said the words without thinking, and they made Morgan’s smile grow soft.

“With those he cares about, yes.  You’re not wrong about him; there _is_ a terrible darkness inside him, driving him towards destruction and evil.  But I have known many Dark Ones, and I have never known one to cling to love the way he does.  Most of them give up on the very idea, and seek to destroy it.  Rumplestiltskin is different.”

She bit her lip briefly.  “Is that because of your being here?”

“Certainly not.  He has been this way from the beginning—a Dark One does not come _back_ from completely abandoning light and love.”  Morgan turned away from the window to study her, and it took all of Belle’s self-control to meet her gaze steadily and not look away.

_Do you have feelings for him?_ The words hung unspoken between them.  Belle thought she knew the answer, but it both terrified and delighted her.  Rumplestiltskin was complicated and unsure, unpredictable and terrifying, but she was drawn to him in ways Belle could hardly begin to describe.  There was light in him, she knew, and love.  Morgan had just confirmed that.

“What about the clothes?  Are they from some child he took?”  She felt that had to be important.  Belle hadn’t seen any children around the castle, at least not often.  Rumplestiltskin sometimes made deals for them, but she hadn’t known him not to rehome children quickly.  And they were always babies, not young boys.

“No.”  Morgan’s eyes grew hard, but this time she didn’t snap at Belle for making an assumption.  “But if you want more details, you’ll have to ask him.”

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”  Belle couldn’t help the way her voice dropped; she felt bad for having blamed Morgan now that she knew the truth, but it was hard _not_ to make assumptions when she lived with two people who were so secretive that they kept truths from one another.

Morgan snorted.  “Of course he does.  He’s quite fond of you, you know.  He’s only angry, but he’ll growl more than he’ll bite.” 

“Maybe you can tell him that you and I had a misunderstanding?”  Belle wasn’t a coward, but she wasn’t sure if bringing the same subject up again was a good idea.  At best, Rumplestiltskin was likely to break more of the china—though she’d noticed that he had at least spared the cup she had chipped in the beginning.

“If I meddle more, he’ll just clam up.  The fool boy needs to talk to _you._ ”

Belle sighed.  “I wish you wouldn’t call him that.”

“Oh, he deserves it.” Morgan rolled her eyes.  “But the moniker is entirely affectionate, I assure you.”

“I’m not sure his self-esteem is high enough to take that, to be honest,” Belle said after a moment’s hesitation.  “He’s so powerful…but so fragile.  Sometimes, I think words can break him when magic would just bounce away.”

“That’s because you know him better than you think.”  Morgan’s smile returned, gentler this time.  “Talk to him.  You might be surprised how receptive he is.”

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin hadn’t been this happy in days.  In fact, he was contemplating a full on giggling fit, because this was just _wonderful._

“I can’t _believe_ this!” Zelena paced back and forth across her throne room, her magic smashing through anything that seemed to offend her.  “And you’re doing _nothing_!”

“Well, what would you have me do, dearie?” he trilled, enjoying every moment of her fury.  “I wouldn’t want to interfere in matters of your little kingdom, after all.”  He gave her his most innocent smile.  “You wouldn’t like that at all.”

Zelena glared.  “You could stop your _mother_ from teaching my useless little sister magic!”

“My mother does as she wills.  Surely you wouldn’t tell Morgan of Cornwall what to do.”  _Rumplestiltskin_ wasn't about to tell her what to do, but he’d laugh uproariously if he got to watch Zelena try.

“She’s nothing special.”  Blue eyes flashed, and Rumplestiltskin snorted.

“Check your ego, _Your Majesty_.  My mother was royal long before King Leopold noticed _you_.”  He gave her a nasty smile.  “And it strikes me that most legends exist for a reason.  Don’t encourage me to stop protecting you.  She’ll eat you alive if you go after her.”

“I don’t need your protection!”

“Shall I depart, then?  Shall I stop our lessons and leave you to deal with your little stepdaughter defying you?”  Rumplestiltskin cocked his head theatrically.  “You’re doing so well at that already.”

A howl of frustration escaped Zelena, and Rumplestiltskin felt himself wiggle in delight.  Most of the gleeful anticipation he felt was his own, but some of it was definitely due to his ever-unwanted internal passengers.  _Isn’t her aggravation beautiful?_ Nimue crooned.  He could feel her gloating in his mind, and the others with her.  _You’ll get that curse cast yet, and perhaps you will then prove yourself worth to be one of us._

_Oh, shut up._ Rumplestiltskin barely managed not to roll his eyes.  _I’ve lived longer than any of you lot and learned more than you ever dreamt of.  I_ will _find my son.  I don’t care about the price._   He was here for a purpose, to drive Zelena closer and closer to casting the curse.  She was unstable, perpetually jealous and prone to fits of uncontrollable rage that drove him to insanity, but she was Cora’s daughter.  And even if Regina’s temperament made her far better suited to cast the curse—she would at least be less mercurial—Zelena was the tool he had to work with.

“I hate you sometimes!”

“I know, dearie.”  Dancing forward, Rumplestiltskin leaned in close.  “But you know you need me.”

Zelena turned to glare at him poisonously, but he gave her his sweetest smile.  “Regina’s magic saved _stupid_ Snow White from my trap.  And they _stole my Huntsman’s heart back!_  How is that supposed to be fair?”

“No one ever said life’s supposed to be fair, you know.  The question isn’t how you complain about unfairness.  It’s what you _do_ about it.”  Rumplestiltskin kept his wiggling to a minimum; Zelena needed guidance, so guidance he would give.  Even if she drove him insane.

And even if he was becoming slightly worried about whose heart she would use to cast the curse when the time came.  He’d hoped she’d want to use Prince James’, but the fool had gotten himself killed and replaced.  Zelena certainly lusted after the new ‘James’, but his chance encounter with a certain princess in the forest already seemed likely to derail any such opportunities on that front.  Besides, Rumplestiltskin needed the former shepherd to fall in love with Snow White, anyway, so he wasn’t going to let Zelena screw that up.   So, he’d have to put enough time in to keep her on the right track—and to find someone for her to fall for that wasn’t him.  _I_ hate _playing matchmaker.  Maybe Mother can help me find someone truly vile for Zelena._ The Huntsman certainly wasn’t going to do.  Zelena viewed him as a wretched little pet, not an actual lover.

There were times he actually hoped that his mother would find another way to get to the Land Without Magic and find Baelfire.  It would certainly be easier than getting Zelena to cast the Dark Curse.

* * *

 

Belle hadn’t been expecting a visitor so soon after her conversation with Morgan, and her head was still spinning when she headed out to the garden to pick some peaches.  In the beginning, Belle had been surprised by how much _life_ surrounded the Dark Castle, but after a while, she’d come to suspect that Rumplestiltskin actually liked the garden and the many types of fruit trees.  He’d never admit it, of course, but the Dark One could easily have destroyed the beautiful garden in a temper tantrum.  _Except he usually breaks his own belongings, instead,_ she thought to herself, still mulling over what Morgan had said.

She supposed that she owed Rumplestiltskin something of an apology, but Belle still wanted to understand what had brought him to be like this.  Morgan had said his life had been hard, but how could that force someone to seek darkness like _this_?  Belle could see glimpses of a good man hidden beneath all that evil, but how could a good man want to become the Dark One?  There was so much that she didn’t understand.

“So, you are the girl whom the Dark One has enslaved.”

The new voice made her spin around, almost dropping her basket of peaches in surprise.  Then Belle found herself faced with an old man who wore long robes and had messy gray hair. His eyes were kind, however, and watching her without any malice or desire.

“I’m not his slave.”  Belle straightened instinctively, disliking the implication.  “I came here of my own free will.”

“My apologies, then.”  He gave her a slight bow that Belle found a little unnerving.  She still nodded in return, though.  “Still, I understand he has forced you to become a servant instead of the lady of your own castle.  That must be quite a shock.”

Belle shrugged.  “I made a deal with him.  Rumplestiltskin saved my people, and in return, I came with him.  Forever.”  She found a slight smile creasing her face.  “Besides, he does not treat me badly.  Not at all.”

There were moments when she wanted to throttle her employer, but that didn’t mean Belle actually thought he was the monster he claimed to be.  He _was_ kind to her, so very kind.  He’d given her the library, a beautiful room of her own, and Rumplestiltskin actually _cared_ what she thought about things.  He was the first man in her life who had ever actually listened to what she had to say.  Yes, he was volatile and she hated the evil festering inside of him, but he could also be surprisingly good and amazingly gentle.  When he wasn’t throwing teacups at her, anyway, a thought that still made her blood boil.

_He could have hit me with any of those cups, though, and he didn’t.  I don’t think he_ wanted _to, even if that doesn’t excuse his poor behavior._

“That is a surprise.”  The old man looked thoughtful, and then shook his head as if to clear it.  “Be it as it may, I can free you, if you wish.  I have the means and the power to keep you from the Dark One, and to protect you from him.”

“But I made a deal.”

“I would say you have certainly served enough time in this terrible place to pay the price of the magic used to free you.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I’ll break my word.”  Belle squared her shoulders.  “That’s not who I am.”  A part of her almost mentioned that Rumplestiltskin would surely avenge himself upon her people if Belle broke her deal, but she wasn’t actually sure that he would.  After all, the ogres were gone, and Rumplestiltskin did always keep his end of a bargain.

The old man cocked his head.  “Deaths can be faked.  The Dark One need never know.”

“Thank you, but no.  I _will_ keep my promises, and that’s final.  I don’t need ‘saving’ from my own choices.”  If Belle spoke more firmly than she meant to, well, that was hardly her fault.  _Rumplestiltskin_ might listen to her and care what she had to say, but this old man really didn’t seem to care for her opinion.  He kept pressing as if more reasons would make her forget her sense of honor and duty—or as if she wanted to leave at all!

Truth be told, Belle liked it there.  Even when Rumplestiltskin drove her mad, he was fascinating.  And…and he was kind.  When they weren’t fighting, she could talk to him for hours about books and history, about worlds he’d travelled to, or about great creatures and people he’d seen.  And Belle was more free in the Dark Castle than she’d ever been at home.  Here she would never be forced to marry an oaf who tortured ogre children, never forced to be a broodmare for his desired army of sons.  Belle could be herself here; even at his worst, Rumplestiltskin never implied she should be someone else or change her mind about what she believed in.

“I see.”  He pressed his lips together, looking displeased. 

Belle gave him a pert smile. “Is there something else you wanted?  Did you perhaps wish to visit with Rumplestiltskin?  I can make tea if so.”

Of course he didn’t want to see Rumplestiltskin, not if he was offering to ‘save’ her, so Belle made the offer with relish.

“No, thank you.”  Now he looked like the cat who’d been stuck catching the canary, and Belle felt a little guilty for enjoying his discomfort.  He’d meant well, hadn’t he?

“Have you changed your mind, then?” Morgan’s voice suddenly came from behind Belle, who found herself glancing at Rumplestiltskin’s mother and wondering how she knew this mysterious old man.

He shook his head.  “My answer remains ever the same, My Lady.  The Sorcerer’s magic cannot—”

“Bollocks.”  Morgan glared.  “You _could_ ; you simply will not.  In which case, know that you are not welcome here.  And your presence will only make my son think of the one thing neither of us want him to consider.”

“If he attempts to take the hat, I will stop him.”  The old man drew himself up, but that only made Morgan snort.

“What hat?” Belle asked before she could stop herself, and the old man seemed to size her up with far less warmth than he’d spoken with before.

“That is not your concern.”

“Leave the girl alone, Michael.”  Morgan’s voice was strangely sharp.  “You and I are in accord on this.  That hat only heralds disaster, much though Nimue would convince my son otherwise.”

_Nimue?_ Belle recognized the name from some book or another, but she couldn’t remember which.  She’d have to look it up later.

“On that, at least, we can agree.”  The old man—Michael, Belle supposed—shook his head and gestured at Belle.  “She does not belong here, My Lady.  If you have any means of control over your son, you should—”

“Oh, stop it,” Belle snapped, her patience at an end.  “I already told you that I don’t need saving, and I _certainly_ don’t need you interceding on my behalf.  I am where I want to be.  End of story.”

Morgan snorted out a laugh as the old man’s eyes grew as wide as saucers.  “I do believe the young lady has spoken.  You’d best leave it alone.”

“She is young and impressionable.  You should know better.”  The old man made the words sound very disapproving, but Morgan just shrugged and let Belle respond.

“I would appreciate not being talked about as if I am not here.”  She glared, but the old man didn’t offer an apology.  His dark eyes only looked at her sadly, as if she was an idiot child and a lost cause all rolled into one.

“I will be on my way, then.”  A swirl of red smoke filled the air, and he was gone, leaving Belle to glare at the empty place where he had stood.

She _hated_ being treated like she didn’t know what she was doing.  Her father had always cosseted her and tried to keep her out of decisions that needed to be made, even though she was his only heir.  All the men in the kingdom followed suit, ignoring Belle’s opinions and writing her off as ‘just a girl’.  But now she had _had_ it with such treatment.  She hadn’t realized how nice it was to be treated like an equal until she’d given herself to a so-called monster who listened to her like no other man ever had.

That said a lot, didn’t it?  And Rumplestiltskin was angry at her over a perceived insult to his mother, not over something she’d said about him.  At least he didn’t look at women as property, or as inferior beings.  And Belle and Morgan had come to an understanding.  Surely she could do the same with Rumplestiltskin, even if he was determined to avoid her.

Belle would find a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter 10—“Something That Wasn’t There Before,” in which Belle’s curiosity leads her down interesting roads, Zelena plots to gain an advantage for herself, Regina meets a certain outlaw, and Rumplestiltskin and Belle finally have a heart-to-heart.
> 
> Also, this story has been nominated for the TEAs! If you’re on tumblr, please vote for A Different Battle in categories of Best Courtship, Best Remix, and Best OC (Morgan). Ruins & Battles, the parent series of this story and Ruins of Camelot, has also been nominated as Best Series.


	10. Something That Wasn’t There Before

Belle had long ago figured out that there really weren’t any books on the Dark One in the Dark Castle, or at least not any in places _she_ was allowed to go.  She suspected that what little literature there was to be found was locked up in Rumplestiltskin’s work tower, but there was no way he was letting her in there.  So, she had to get creative.  She also remembered what Morgan had said: _“That hat only heralds disaster, much though Nimue would convince my son otherwise.”_ There were hundreds of magical hats in history, but the name “Nimue” was something Belle thought she could find.  Particularly since she had a pretty good guess about what kind of person Nimue had to be based upon what Morgan had said.

So, she buried herself in the library and started doing research.  It wasn’t like Rumplestiltskin actually expected her to clean, anyway, which meant she had plenty of hours to herself.  Much to her surprise, Nimue wasn’t anyone recent; she’d wondered if perhaps she’d been some evil sorceress who’d created the Dark One or maybe Rumplestiltskin’s predecessor—although the latter thought only occurred to her after she realized that there _had_ been other Dark Ones.  Yet she found multiple references to the last Dark One having been male and under the control of or in an alliance with the Duke of the Frontlands, and she was fairly certain that Nimue was a feminine name.  That made her dig deeper, and then deeper.

Finally, she found the name of Nimue, and much to her surprise, Nimue _had_ been a Dark One.  The very first, as a matter of fact.  Unfortunately, Belle couldn’t find much beyond that, even though she dug for more references to early Dark Ones and Nimue in particular, but what she could find made her think.

If Nimue—who had lived at least five hundred years ago, but some legends say more than a thousand years had passed—could somehow influence Rumplestiltskin, did that explain some of what he was?  Belle had started to realize that the darkness inside him ran far deeper than the power he apparently chose to have; sometimes, she could see a good man peeking out from the shadows, and she often wondered how a good man had turned into a monster.  Even their current fight was over the fact that she’d naively blamed his _mother_ for what he’d become, and if that didn’t show that Rumplestiltskin was capable of love, she didn’t know what did.

_Can he love me?_ Belle had asked Morgan.  She’d never answered the older woman’s question about if she had feelings for Rumplestiltskin, of course, but that wasn’t because Belle didn’t know the answer.  She _knew_ ; the thought just terrified her, sometimes.  She didn’t want to be drawn to that much darkness, didn’t want to have feelings for someone who could hurt others so easily.  But if the darkness wasn’t _him_ , if it was a force inside him driven by Nimue or something else…well, that changed things, didn’t it?

“I don’t understand you,” she said to the book in her hands, _A Historie of Magic._   “But I wish I could.”

“Wish you could understand what, dearie?”

Belle spun.

* * *

  


Even killing that annoying outlaw woman didn’t make Zelena feel any better.  The knowledge that her obnoxious little stepdaughter—an odious, spoiled brat if there _ever_ had been one!—had found shelter with Regina, of all people, was enough to drive a woman insane.  And now she heard that _James_ had abandoned Abigail for Snow White!  There was absolutely no justice in the world, and Zelena just wanted to scream.

Yet she didn’t.  Queens had more dignity than that, and she was _the_ Queen.  She was the most feared monarch in all of the Enchanted Forest, and the powerful didn’t complain to their underlings.  No, powerful witches got revenge, and that was what she was going to do.  To start with, Zelena was going to put a few strings on her own bow, too.  She wasn’t going to wait for Rumplestiltskin to hand things to her—even if she was certain that her teacher was sweet on her and would give her all she wanted in good time.  Rumplestiltskin was nothing if not stubborn and unpredictable, though, so she needed some leverage of her own.

Which was why she invited the pirate back, of course.  The fact that he was easy on the eyes certainly didn’t hurt, either.  But he was there for business; he’d already proposed to undertake one voyage on her behalf which had turned out quite profitably, although Zelena now had a new proposal for him.

“If I hear right, you’re the Crocodile’s _student._ So why is it that you’d be offering to help _me_ get revenge?”  Hook eyed her cautiously, and Zelena made a mental note that he had something of a brain to go with that pretty face.

“Because I’m not an idiot.”  Zelena shrugged as casually as she could.  “Rumplestiltskin uses _everyone_.  And I’m not really in a mood to be used.”

She was in a mood to use this pirate, of course, but she wasn’t going to say that.  Zelena had learned to temper her impulsiveness in her years as queen, and she knew exactly what she was doing.  She also knew that Rumple saw _her_ as different from everyone else, which probably meant she wouldn’t need the pirate—but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.

“Aye, he does.”  Hook sized her up, cocking his head.  “So, what exactly is it that you want _me_ to do, love?  It seems to be that you’ve got magic in your corner already, so why come to a devilishly handsome pirate?”

“Well, the devilishly handsome part doesn’t exactly hurt.”  She gave him a smile, meeting his eyes with her own.  Hook didn’t seem to miss the unspoken invitation, but he didn’t jump for it, either.  _That’s annoying._   Zelena bit back a sigh.  “I thought we might ally, you and I.  I’m sure a pirate such as yourself knows plenty of people who dislike the Dark One, and I’d like to become their patroness.”

Hook snorted.  “Would you, now?”

“Yes, I would.”  Not snapping the words took all of her self-control, and they still came out sharper than Zelena would have wanted.  “I also want revenge of my own, and I thought you might be willing to help with that if…properly compensated.”

“Now you’re talking, love.  What type of treasure do you have in mind to barter?”

Zelena blinked.  She _hadn’t_ meant to give the greedy man gold, but he seemed to want it.  Was he so obtuse that he’d missed the not-so-subtle invitation to become the Queen’s lover?  Surely even a pirate could guess how lucrative that position could be.

No matter.  She’d give him gold for now, and seal his allegiance to her, later.  Zelena was sure she could wrap him around her finger quickly enough, and that would serve her purposes, even if she did have to fork over cash in the meantime.

* * *

  


Belle hadn’t been expecting her employer to walk in on her in the library.  Now that he had, however, she wasn’t going to miss her chance.  Rumplestiltskin had stormed out on every other chance she’d had to talk to him, but Belle was determined to make this time different.  So, she looked him right in the eye, squared her shoulders, and spoke her mind.

“I wish I understood _you_.  One day you’re throwing teacups at me, and the next you’re running away.  You’re _not_ the monster you claim to be, but you won’t let me truly know you.”

His scowl was so deep that it was almost a pout.  “That’s _your_ doing, dearie.”  Rumplestiltskin snapped the words as if he was expecting her to deny her own mistakes.  “Apparently, trying to be kind to young noblewomen is an exercise in futility.”

“Being kind is never futile.”  Taking a deep breath, Belle lifted her chin and looked him in the eye.  “And I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for accusing Morgan of something she didn’t deserve.  I don’t—I just didn’t understand at all.  And I really don’t understand the darkness that makes you what you are.”

“I am what I am.  It’s best you don’t try to understand it.”  Rumplestiltskin sneered, but Belle could tell his heart wasn’t really in it.

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t need to know the monster’s weaknesses!”

Belle rolled her eyes.  “I just said that you’re not a monster.  Stop being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?”  He reared back, looking offended.  ‘I will have you know that—”  The words sputtered out of him until Belle put a hand on his arm, which made Rumplestiltskin’s mouth snap shut with an audible _click_.

“I want to know you because you’re _you_.  Your weaknesses are your own.  I just want to know _Rumplestiltskin_ , not just the Dark One.”

“Why—why would you want to know that?” His voice had gone soft and uncertain, and his reptilian eyes seemed softer and browner.  Belle was sure that was just an illusion, and yet she could see how confusion smoothed away some of his rough edges, making him look more human than Belle had ever seen.

So, she smiled as gently as she could.  “Because you’re worth knowing.  Because you’re my friend.”

Last time, when they’d fought, he’d corrected her and called himself her employer.  This time, Rumplestiltskin did nothing of the sort.  His voice was a broken whisper.  “Monsters do not have friends.”

“Then it’s a good thing you aren’t a monster.”  Belle squeezed his arm again, and Rumplestiltskin flinched.  The movement was almost invisible, but Belle felt it through her fingers, and it made her stare.  How terrible had his life been that he flinched away from a gentle touch?  What caused that haunted mixture of longing and terror in his eyes?

_You asked if anyone had ever loved him unconditionally.  The answer is that few enough people have, and he has always suffered for it,_ Morgan had said.  Although Belle didn’t know the facts, she thought she was beginning to understand what Morgan had meant.

She wouldn’t ask for details, now, though.  Rumplestiltskin clearly wasn’t ready to share, not so soon after their fight.  But Belle could see why he’d been so angry when she blamed his mother for what he’d become, and she couldn’t understand why she hadn’t seen it before.  He _hated_ himself, hated what he was.  He blamed himself for being a monster; that was clear from every iota of his body language.  Morgan, on the other hand, dared to love him despite the darkness.  She didn’t put up with any of Rumplestiltskin’s nonsense—Belle had seen Morgan call him out on a hundred different things—but she loved him despite it all.

_Can I do that?_ Belle wondered to herself.  She couldn’t lie; the depths of the darkness in Rumplestiltskin’s soul frightened her.  Yet she also found herself drawn to the light he tried so very hard to hide, so she squeezed his arm again, a little harder this time.

“I’m your friend,” she repeated.  “Assuming you will let me be.”

“I…I would like that.”  Rumplestiltskin’s smile was as hesitant as his smile, but it still warmed Belle’s heart.

“So would I.”

* * *

  


“My sister is insane.  I’m so sorry.”  Regina squared her shoulders as she spoke the words, prepared for her friend to blame her for the most recent atrocity—but much to her surprise, Snow just reached out and put a hand on her arm.

“It’s not your fault.  You never even _knew_ her until she decided to kill us both.”

“And an entire town for sheltering us.”  Gritting her teeth made a sharp, grinding noise in her ears, but Regina didn’t care.  If Zelena had been in front of her right now, she probably would have done her damnedest to murder her sister. 

Unfortunately, Zelena liked to hide behind her royal guards, so that was obviously not going to happen any time soon.

“She also murdered my wife.”  A new voice made her and Snow turn, and Regina felt like she’d been hit between the eyes with a hammer.

The man facing them grimly wasn’t the most handsome fellow she’d ever seen—though he was quite close to it.  But there was something about him, something about the pain in his blue eyes, or maybe in the way he held himself like someone who refused to fall apart no matter how broken his heart was, that made Regina’s heart ache.  There was something else about him, too, something that stirred feelings deep within her like she hadn’t felt since Daniel.  When Zelena had killed her longtime love, Regina had thought she would _never_ feel anything like that ever again, but she felt her heart flutter helplessly.

_Don’t be stupid,_ she told herself firmly, not sure where these alien feelings had come from.  _He’s mourning._

“Oh, my goodness.”  Snow, of course, reached out to put a hand on the man’s arm.  “I’m so sorry to hear that.  But you and your people are certainly welcome here.  Are you the man that Little John spoke of?”

“I am.  Robin of Locksley.”  A grimace.  “People tend to call me Robin Hood.”

“I’m Snow, and this is Regina.  Like you, we’re enemies of Zelena’s.”  Snow’s smile was so gentle that even a grieving man had to answer it, and Regina was glad that Snow was doing the talking, because she didn’t know what to say.  “John let us come to your camp after Zelena started hurting the people who were sheltering us.”

“And you’re very welcome here.  Any enemies of the Wicked Queen are friends of mine.”  His mouth set in determination, and Regina forced herself to focus.

“Thank you,” she said as calmly as she could.  “But…you should know that Zelena is my half-sister.  She’s no friend of mine, but…you should know.”

Most people didn’t react as well as Snow always did, but this Robin Hood just took it in stride.  “Well, if she liked you, I expect you wouldn’t be here.  Let’s find the two of you somewhere to sleep.  I can’t promise luxuries, but I can promise you’ll be safe with us.”

* * *

  


Well, this certainly tore Rumplestiltskin’s backup plan for the curse into disarray.  Morgan had followed Regina here, just to make sure that her student was safe—Zelena was determined to butcher anyone who hid Snow or Regina, and the last thing they needed was for Zelena to _win_.  Morgan was still determined to stop her son from manipulating the world into the Dark Curse, but she had promised him to help if a better way did not present itself.  And since a less terrible method of finding Baelfire had yet to present itself, she was obligated to keep their options open.

But she was a Seer, Morgan was, and she could See what had just happened.  A woman with a True Love, or even just a potential one, was never going to be dark enough to cast the Dark Curse.  Zelena’s murder of Daniel had sent Prince Henry into hiding (a small feat that Morgan had helped with, knowing how Regina loved her father and how that might be useful later), and had removed any worry that Regina would find True Love.

Until now.

“Well, I suppose we need a Plan C,” Morgan muttered to herself.  Regina was not going to cast her son’s curse, so that left the uncontrollable Zelena.  Who was also in love with Rumplestiltskin.

Yes, it was time to find Zelena a new lover.  Fast.

* * *

  


His maid was… _confusing_. 

Rumplestiltskin watched her all but dancing through the gardens (which he did _not_ like, thank you very much, despite what said maid had said to him yesterday), absolutely unable to understand her.  Almost a week had passed since Belle had apologized to him—to him!—for accusing his mother of having driven him to become the Dark One, and Rumplestiltskin still wasn’t sure what to do about her.  Everything he felt for her was confusing.  _You’re the Dark One,_ Zoso’s voice objected inside him, sending a cold chill down Rumplestiltskin’s spine.  _You don’t_ feel _for the help._

_Shut up._   He could do without Zoso’s incessant prattling, or Nimue’s pointed barbs, but wishing for them to go away was like wishing to be human again.  It wasn’t going to happen, and if it _had_ been possible, Rumplestiltskin would not have given up his power to be free.  He loved his power as much as he hated the darkness, and Rumplestiltskin well knew that one was the price for the other.  He was not lucky like Regina or Zelena; he had not been born with magic of his own.  His mother had been, but it seemed that all of her magical ability had gone to his older-but-dead siblings.  And he _needed_ his power.  He needed it to find Bae—and he liked it.  Rumplestiltskin had been powerless for too long to ever relish the idea of treading that cowardly path again.

Soft singing jerked him out of his reverie, and he realized that Belle was actually twirling amongst the peach trees.  And she was _singing_ some ridiculously optimistic and happy song, too.  The very sight of that should have made him smile, so why did Rumplestiltskin find a smile tugging at his lips?

“Do you see something you like?” 

His mother’s voice made him spin around, and _there_ was the scowl he should have been scowling.  “Sneaking up on the Dark One is unbecoming, Mother.  Not to mention dangerous.”

“Pfft.”  Morgan waved her hand, clearly unconcerned.  “Do answer the question, Rumple.”

Glaring at her did no good.  “Of course I don’t.  She’s my _maid_.”

“And friend, I thought?”  Morgan gave him a knowing look.  “Or do you give libraries to all of your maids?”

“The girl’s well-read.  It’s nice to have _intelligent_ conversation from time to time.”  The insult, however, seemed fly right over her head, which only made Rumplestiltskin scowl deepen.

“Yes, I imagine that teaching Zelena does leave you with a dearth of that.” 

Rumplestiltskin just rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help sneaking a quick glance at Belle as he turned away from the window.  Just to see if she was safe, of course.  But she was still dancing happily amongst the trees, picking pomegranates now.  _When did I let pomegranate trees grow in that damned garden_?  That thought made him twist to snarl at his mother.  “This is _your_ doing, isn’t it?”

“My dear boy, you’re the one who made the deal for Belle.”  Morgan blinked innocently.  “Are you having second thoughts this late in the game?”

“Mother!  That’s not what I’m speaking of.  I’m—I’m—”

She cut his irate frothing off with a hand on his arm.  “Peace, Rumple.  I know you care for her.”

“Of course I don’t!  I’m the _Dark One_ , and I don’t _care_.”

“And now you’re perilously close to whining in your denials.”  She patted his arm.  “I of all people know how capable of caring you are.  Let’s not lie to one another.  Please.”

Rumplestiltskin opened his mouth to argue, and then snapped it shut.  Of course Morgan knew he was capable of caring.  She knew that he cared for her, for Bae, and she knew that he’d loved Cora, too.  _Or loved her as best I was able, and look what a mess_ that _got me into,_ he thought bitterly.  Of course, Nimue had to chime in: _Good.  You’ve learned.  Don’t allow yourself to be fooled.  They only want you for your power._

_All of them,_ Zoso added, and Rumplestiltskin shook his head, hoping to shake their voices off like buzzing flies.

“She cares for you, too, you know,” Morgan said softly.

“She can’t.”  The words were automatic, but they were much quieter than Rumplestiltskin wanted them to be.  “She said she wants to be my friend, but she _can’t_.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s always about power.”  Now he didn’t care if he sounded broken or bitter; at least he knew that Morgan would honestly not think less of him.  “She’ll never care about _me_.”

“I think Belle might surprise you, you know.  Didn’t she apologize to you already?”

Now he spun to glare at her again, trying to banish the image of his beautiful maid picking pomegranates from his mind.  “You put her up to that.”

“Oh, no.”  A soft laugh.  “She came to me to ask why you were so angry, but I didn’t put Belle up to anything.  Give the girl a chance, Rumple.  She does truly care about you.”

He didn’t know what to say about that; really, he didn’t.  Rumplestiltskin could only turn back to look at Belle, who was walking back towards the castle, her basket swinging easily in hands.  She wasn’t singing, now, but she looked radiantly happy—but that had to be a lie.  What kind of _good_ person could be happy in this castle?  With _him_?  And even if she did care for him, it would all turn to ash soon enough.  He always lost those he loved.  Rumplestiltskin was constantly surprised that Morgan was still here, after all.  His mother should have gotten fed up with him and left ages ago.

But the way his heart skipped a beat when he thought about Belle was unsettling.  So was the way he _wanted_ her to like him, the way he felt when she laughed at his jokes, and the way light was creeping into his life.  She was beautiful and good, smart and strong, all things he never had been, and he _wanted_ her desperately.  But beautiful maidens did not fall for wretched monsters.  That was simply the way of the world.

So, he teleported away before Morgan could say more, before Belle could come inside and he’d have to face the fact that he was falling in love with a woman he could never have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has left comments and kudos! I really do appreciate all the kind words, as well as the votes at the TEAs – Morgan le Fae won Best OC from this story!
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter 11—“A Mystery to be Uncovered,” in which Belle dives to the heart of the matter, Zelena asks uncomfortable questions, and Rumplestiltskin is so very lost.


	11. A Mystery to be Uncovered

“Why are there… _flowers_ on my table?” Rumplestiltskin spotted the offending daffodils right away; Belle was pretending to dust near them, but he knew who the culprit had to be.

Morgan, after all, did not like flowers.  Unless she was turning idiots into them, of course.  Then his mother liked flowers just fine.

His cheeky maid just shrugged.  “I thought they’d look nice.”

“But—but this is the _Dark Castle_.”  He tried to giggle off-puttingly, but it came off weak and Rumplestiltskin hated himself for it.  His heart pounded every time he looked at Belle, but he could not afford to sound like that.  He _couldn’t._   “People are supposed to be _afraid_ of this place, not lulled into comfort by flowers!”

“Perhaps you can then lull them into a false sense of security?” Belle smiled at him, but it was the way her tongue stuck out slightly from between her teeth that did unfortunate things to him. 

“I’m—I don’t need—which is to say that I…”  Rumplestiltskin found himself stuttering, and then cut the ramble off with an effort.  “That’s not required!”

“You can get rid of them if you want.”  Her eyes were a little big and sad, but he was _not_ going to be swayed by that.  “I just thought they’d look nice.”

The hopeful look on her face killed him, but at least there wasn’t anyone else around to witness his humiliation.  Or at least not anyone other than the voices in his head.  Rumplestiltskin tried to shrug casually.  “I’ll get used to them, I’m sure.”

 “Thank you!”  Much to his surprise, Belle bounded forward to kiss him on the cheek, and Rumplestiltskin froze like a frightened rabbit.

She had… _kissed_ him?  On the cheek?  Why had she done that?  Why _would_ she ever do anything other than shy away from the beast?  However, Belle was already gone, continuing with her ‘cleaning’, complete with cheerful humming, but all Rumplestiltskin could do was stare, dumbfounded.  Of course, Nimue took advantage of his distraction.

_Burn the flowers!_ the first Dark One demanded.  _Burn her with them!  Don’t let her be so disrespectful.  She’ll only take advantage of you._

_Better yet, take advantage of_ her _first,_ Zoso added.  _You know you want to._ Several others murmured in agreement; Rumplestiltskin could feel their lust building rapidly, and it made him shiver in revulsion.  _Take her.  She might not even argue.  Do it right there, on the table.  That’ll take care of the flowers, and then you can—_

A hand on his arm cut the voices off like someone had pushed them straight out of his soul.  “Are you all right?”

“…wha?”  Blinking, Rumplestiltskin found himself staring into Belle’s concerned Blue eyes, floundering for mental balance in the sudden silence.

“Are you all right, Rumplestiltskin?” Belle asked gently, squeezing his arm.  “You look…tormented.”

He swallowed hard.  “Yes.  I’m fine.  Very fine.  Of course I’m fine.”

“I can tell.”  Belle’s laugh was soft, but somehow, it wasn’t mocking.  He still pulled away from her, though, and the voices came back in an avalanche of fury.

_Destroy her!  Take her and burn her and—_

“ _Shut up._ ”  Rumplestiltskin hissed the words before he could stop himself, caught in a whirlwind of confusion.  The voices had stopped and then started anew, angrier and demanding blood and death and—

“What?” Her voice cut through the shouting like the sharp and clear noise of a bell, sounding hurt and worried.  “What did I say?”

“Not you.”  He spoke too soon, and Rumplestiltskin desperately waved a hand to distract her.  “Never mind.  I’m talking to myself.”  Her expression remained a shade wounded, but the apology he knew she deserved stuck in his throat.

_You’re weak!_ Nimue’s mocking laugh filled his mind.  _This slip of a girl has you--_

Despite her hurt, Belle reached out for him once more, and Nimue was suddenly silent.  The transition was startling.  “You’re talking to Nimue, aren’t you?  I read that she was the first Dark One, but she’s not really gone, is she?”

“Wha— _what_ did you say?” Utterly shocked, Rumplestiltskin actually stumbled.  “How did you know that?  Who told you—”

He managed to cut himself off, but the damage was done.  He’d said too much, and yet somehow, Belle’s soft hand remained in place.  “No one told me.  But it isn’t that hard to figure out.  You’re a good man, Rumplestiltskin, but there’s a darkness festering inside you that just eats at your soul, isn’t there?”

“I made my choices.”  The words came out in a mumble, but he wouldn’t lie.  “All magic comes at a price.”

“Is loneliness the price you have to pay?”  Her voice was still so soft and gentle that it almost broke him.  “Must you do this alone?  I can’t imagine how hard it is to fight back those voices on your own.  Can’t you accept help?”

Rumplestiltskin just stared, unable to form words.  After all she had just learned, how did she ask _that_?  Yet the compassion in Belle’s eyes was unmistakable; she was a direct woman and not given to lying.  But he still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that Belle cared about him.  She’d said that she wanted to be his friend, and yet this…this was too much.  This was dizzying.  How could she possibly accept him for what he was?  Morgan did, but Morgan was his _mother_.  It had taken him long enough to accept that, yet Belle was not Morgan.  Belle was sweetness and light, courage and gentleness.  Morgan was strong, yes, but she was all sharp edges and embittered passions gone wrong.  Morgan understood bad choices; she’d lived plenty of her own.  Belle had only ever made the right ones.

“Rumple?”

A few weeks ago, he would have snapped at her not to use that nickname, the one he’d discarded centuries ago and now only reserved for his mother.  But now the name of his old innocence, his softer and kinder self— _Weaker!_ his own self-hated reminded him—sounded beautiful on her lips.

Except he still didn’t know what to say to her.  To any of this.

“I—I have things to do.”  His hands flapped uselessly as he spoke the words, and then like the coward he was, Rumplestiltskin fled.

Teleporting himself to his work room, however, didn’t take away the feeling of her hand on his arm or her lips on his scaly cheek.

* * *

 

Morgan didn’t want to press, but she could see what was happening.  The way Rumplestiltskin softened as he watched Belle, the way a small smile kept trying to creep onto his lips whenever the girl wasn’t looking.  He was truly falling for her, and what was more interesting was that Rumplestiltskin was doing so without Morgan’s interference.  She’d expected to have to push him more, yet here her son was, falling head over heels in love with Belle.  _And Belle is doing just as I had hoped she would—being brave and getting to know_ him _as a person._

Morgan knew her son’s weaknesses, after all.  After decades in his castle, she knew that Rumplestiltskin’s deepest and darkest desire was to be _loved_.  He’d given his heart to Cora, disastrous as that had been, and as afraid as he was, he would give it to Belle, too.  All she really needed to do was get out of the way—and make sure that her fool boy didn’t manage to mess things up with his fears.  Yet Belle was doing admirably so far, even if her methods were not those Morgan would have chosen herself.

It was probably better that way.  If Belle had listened too much to any advice Morgan gave, Rumplestiltskin might have guessed that his mother wanted to manipulate events.  She did want to, of course, but this little romance was rapidly tearing itself out of her hands.  So, she chose to focus on other things.

“How does the Dark Curse progress?” she asked one evening, after she was certain that Belle was long since asleep.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t have to sleep, of course, and Morgan often chose not to.  She had too many regrets to sleep easily.

“Zelena is a far from ideal curse caster.”  Rumplestiltskin’s lips curled up in a sneer as he glared at her.  “Which would _not_ have happened if you hadn’t intervened with Cora.”

“Yes, then you would have had Regina, who would have been miserable.”  Morgan shrugged.  “But then Cora might also have your dagger, and then where would you be?”

That comment earned her a poisonous glare, but this was hardly the first time they’d had this argument, so Morgan shrugged it off.  Killing Cora—rather, having buried her alive—was _not_ one of Morgan’s many regrets.   Rumplestiltskin was far safer with that poisonous little social climber gone, Dark Curse be damned.  And he knew it, too, which was why he turned away with a pout before answering.

“She’s found herself an old friend to amuse herself.”  A nasty giggle.  “Couldn’t happen to a nicer pirate.”

“Pirate?” Morgan didn’t know of any history her son had with a pirate, save for the one whose hand he’d cut off centuries earlier.  Still, it didn’t matter, so she waved her hand dismissively.  “Never mind that.  Is she progressing well enough in her magical studies?”

“Oh, magic’s not the problem with _dear_ Zelena.  She’s plenty of that, and anger enough besides.”  Rumplestiltskin wiggled his fingers gleefully.  “Although no one’s had the heart to tell her that her _precious_ Prince James is dead and has been replaced with his twin.”

“Who has, of course, fallen for her hated stepdaughter.”  Morgan couldn’t have planned that better herself, but she could see her son’s fingerprints all over it.

“The irony is rather delicious.”  His smile was almost genuine, if one could ignore the mockery beneath it.  “But there remains the problem of what heart she will use.”

“Perhaps I can help with that.”  Morgan took a breath; she knew what worried Rumplestiltskin because they’d both seen the way Zelena looked at her teacher.  Her needing Rumplestiltskin’s heart for the Dark Curse would negate the advantages of having it cast; the Dark One _probably_ couldn’t be killed via heart-crushing, yet Rumplestiltskin probably could, which would leave Morgan with Nimue and company inhabiting her son’s body and Baelfire without a father to find him.

“You?”  Years ago, her volunteering would have earned Morgan a suspicious look, but now Rumplestiltskin only peered at her curiously.

“Yes, me.”  She tried not to roll her eyes.  “I still do not think that the Dark Curse is the best answer, but if this must be done, I will see it done right.  Surely there’s _some_ fool we can find for Zelena to fall for.  She’s lonely enough that anyone who adores her enough will probably do the trick.”

In some ways, Morgan found Zelena’s loneliness terribly sad.  It even reminded her of herself in some of her worst days.  Yet if she had to choose between Zelena and her son, Rumplestiltskin would win every time.  Zelena would know the price that needed to be paid, and the choice would be hers.  Morgan did not pity those who destroyed themselves in the pursuit of revenge.  She had done it, and knew there was always a choice.

Now there was only the question of finding the proper fool for Zelena to love.

* * *

 

Belle thought about going to Morgan for advice, but in the end, she stopped herself.  Rumplestiltskin was _so_ frustrating, closed off and yet endearingly fragile.  She had to stop turning to Morgan for help with these things if she truly wanted to get to know Rumplestiltskin for himself, so she started in small ways.  She didn’t bring up how the previous Dark Ones might be influencing him—even though Belle _burned_ to ask questions about that!  Instead, she just talked to him, just like they used to.  They talked about books in the library, about history, about places he had been and things he had seen.  And slowly, she started touching him more and more, laying a hand on his arm here and a kiss on his cheek there.  Rumplestiltskin seemed to soften every time she did so, his eyes looking more and more human as he gave her hesitant smiles.

Belle drank each one up like an elixir; she didn’t know why her ability to make the Dark One smile meant so much to her, but she wanted to see him _happy_.  There was as much sadness in him as there was darkness, she’d realized.  Rumplestiltskin was capable of terrible things, such as trying to kill that poor outlaw he’d nearly shot a few months ago, but he was also capable of deep and genuine feeling.  _Can he love me?_ she had once asked Morgan.  _Like this?_ Morgan had said yes, although Belle hadn’t been ready to believe her at the time.

She was ready now.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked that evening.  Belle had been reading while Rumplestiltskin spun—a habit they’d picked up sometime over the last few weeks—and Morgan was nowhere in sight.  The sorceress had said something about ‘finding a fool’ when she left hours earlier, and Belle thought now might be a good time to talk.

“Like what?”  Rumplestiltskin twisted to look at her, his eyes dancing with mirth.  “Do you have a desire to know what potions can keep you young and beautiful for a hundred lifetimes, hmmm?”

That question startled a laugh out of Belle, and the question that followed blurted out before she could stop herself.  “Do you think I’m beautiful, then?”

“I—I, um, well, as well you should be.”  Was he turning a little red?  Belle couldn’t tell, because suddenly Rumplestiltskin was up and looming towards her with comically feigned menace.  “A monster wouldn’t demand an _ugly_ maiden, after all.  Only the best will do!”

“Oh, is that how it is?”  She couldn’t help giggling, though, particularly as Rumplestiltskin danced forward, clearly miming a terrible beast.

“Of course it is.  Haven’t you read the rules, dear?”

“Rules?  What rules?” 

“Of being a terrible monster.”  His hands flashed in the air, twirling.  “And I am the most terrible monster of them all.”

“Oh, stop that.  Of course you aren’t.”  Smiling, Belle reached up and grabbed Rumplestiltskin by the left arm, tugging downwards.  As she’d expected, his silly dancing had left him unbalanced, and a small pull from her made him topple onto the couch at her side with a surprised yelp.  “You’re certainly not terrible.”

Surprisingly sad eyes glanced her way briefly before looking away.  “I’m not a man.”

“Surely you were, once.”  Belle cocked her head.  “You weren’t always like this.”

“No.  No, I wasn’t.”  His voice was a whisper, barely audible.

“You can’t have always been alone, either, can you?” She squeezed his arm again, watching Rumplestiltskin’s face carefully.  He looked ready to clam up, ready to run away, but touching him always seemed to help.  Taking a deep breath, she decided to gamble.  “Was there a son, once?”

Rumplestiltskin’s head jerked around like a frightened rabbit, his eyes wide and almost afraid.  But he didn’t pull away, only staring at Belle while she watched his tortured expression.  Finally, his chin dropped to stare at the floor.

“Yes.  Once.”

There was so much pain in his voice that Belle could feel it hanging in the air, broken and yearning.  “What happened?” she whispered.

“I lost him.”

“I’m so sorry.”  Belle squeezed his arm again, noticing the way tears were welled up in the strange, reptilian eyes.  Despite looks, she’d never seen Rumplestiltskin appear so human as he did now, nor so small and so tired.  “What happened?  Will you tell me?”

He swallowed hard enough to make his adam’s apple bob up and down.  “There’s nothing else to tell, really.”

“I doubt that.”

“You had a life, Belle.”  His head came up as he changed the subject without warning, looking at her with a deep intensity that made Belle shiver.  “Before…this.  Friends.  Family. What made you choose to come here with me?”

“Heroism.”  Belle shrugged a little, wondering if she sounded silly.  But Rumplestiltskin clearly didn’t want to talk about his lost son, so she went along with it.  “Sacrifice.  You know, there aren’t a lot of opportunities for women in this land to… to show what they can do.  To see the world, to be heroes.  So, when you arrived, that was my chance.  I always wanted to be brave. I figured, do the brave thing, and bravery would follow.”

“And is it everything you hoped?”

“Well, uh… I did want to see the world.”  She laughed lightly.  “That part didn’t really work out.  But, uh… I did save my village.”  And Belle wasn’t so sheltered that she didn’t know how lucky she’d been.  She _had_ expected Rumplestiltskin to deflower her, at best.  Not to make a friend who she cared for more than she’d ever cared for Gaston.

“By going with the _terrible_ monster.”  Rumplestiltskin grinned as he said the words, so Belle smacked his arm lightly.

“If you want to frighten me, you’re going to have to do much worse than that.”

He giggled, going theatrical on her again, looming forward with a wolfish expression.  “Do you doubt I can, dearie?”

“At this point, yes!”  But Belle could barely contain her own attack of the giggles; facing that ridiculous expression made her laugh uncontrollably.  At least until a new voice rang out, rudely interrupting their fun.

“If _this_ is what your mother’s maid gets up to when she’s gone, Rumple, you really need to find the girl some more work.”

They both twisted to see that terrible witch of a queen, Zelena, standing by the long table.  Instantly, Rumplestiltskin was on his feet, his smile replaced by a scowl of epic proportions.  “Well, this is an unexpected pleasure, dearie.  Did you run out of peasants to torment?”  He danced forward, all danger and sharp edges, with none of the softness Belle had come to love so much.  “Or was it pirates this time?”

Zelena’s face twitched just so, and Belle knew that blow had struck home, somehow.  But she sneered right back.  “I _came_ to speak to you about serious matters, and I find you acting like a child.  How typical.”

“Ah, but that’s the thing about power, isn’t it?” Rumplestiltskin’s voice dropped to a low growl, almost a purr.  “When you have enough of it, you can act however you wish, and no one will dare stop you.”  One finger went up, striking the air like he was poking holes in Zelena’s illusions.  “But I can understand your confusion.  You have rebellious princesses and irritating outlaws undermining you _left_ and _right_.”

“Don’t test my patience, Rumplestiltskin!”

“I’ll test that and more.”  He laughed easily.  “But do come into my office and we’ll talk about your little problems.”

Zelena glared, but she followed him out of the room.  Sighing, Belle watched them leave, hating the way she saw Rumplestiltskin’s darkness dancing right to the surface.  It wasn’t that Queen Zelena wasn’t a thoroughly vile woman who deserved the worst he could say to her—Belle still remembered the way Zelena had threatened her, and it sent chills down her spine—but Belle hated to see Rumplestiltskin embrace his nastiness like this.  There was a good man under the darkness, one capable of love.  Yet he kept that goodness buried so deeply, like he was afraid of what might happen if he showed it to others.  Instead, he embraced the mask of the monster, seeming to revel in it.  And now he was associating with the Evil Queen, the most feared woman in the entire Enchanted Forest.  But why?

Sucking in a deep breath, Belle made her decision. Rising, she followed Rumplestiltskin and Zelena towards his tower. 

* * *

 

“I want to know where your mother hid _my_ mother’s odious former husband.”  Zelena probably thought she sounded regal when she made that demand, but she really just sounded like a petulant child.

So, Rumplestiltskin giggled.  “You would, would you?  Sorry to disappoint you, _Your Majesty_ , but I don’t know.  Nor do I care.”

“Do you have _any_ control over that horrible bat of a woman?  She’s living in your castle, and she’s—”

“She’s my mother.”  Lunging forward, Rumplestiltskin wrapped his hand around Zelena’s neck, using magic to propel them both until her back slammed hard into the wall. Several items in a nearby bookshelf rattled madly, and a tapestry almost fell on them both, but he didn’t care.  “Insult her again, and see how easily you can _fail_ to leave this castle.”

“You need me.”  Zelena rolled her eyes, scoffing.  “I might not know what your plan is, Rumple, but we both know that you wouldn’t spend so much time teaching me and helping me if you didn’t have _something_ in mind.”

Damn her intelligence.  Zelena was a pain in the posterior, but she _was_ smart.  And she was far more ruthless than Regina ever would have been, even if Cora had raised her.  That, of course, wasn’t necessarily a good thing.  Nor was Zelena’s utter amorality.  Both were things he _hadn’t_ wanted in his curse caster, but she was right.  He needed her.

Still, he wasn’t going to admit that, not to her face. 

“Plans can change, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin snapped.  “Don’t tempt me too much.”  But he did let her go.  Letting her think that she’d won this round was probably advisable.  He didn’t need her _too_ cowed, after all.

“Of course they can.”  Zelena straightened her dress and her hair dismissively.  “I don’t mind that you have plans in mind for me, but I do insist that you show me a little respect.  And if you’re going to get things from me, I want things from _you.”_

He snorted.  “Such as?”

“I want my sister dead!  She saved that little brat from me, and _she_ got the life I should have had!”  Zelena wheeled on him, her eyes flashing furiously.  “I want her _dead_!”

“Have fun with the fratricide, then.”  Rumplestiltskin shrugged; he knew that Morgan would prevent Regina’s death—she’d grown quite fond of Cora’s younger daughter—but it would be good to see Zelena keep trying.  The more frustrated she was, the better.

“Your stupid _mother_ is protecting her.”  Zelena glared at him like this was his fault.

“Well, then I suggest you take it up with her.”  He waved a hand.  “Not my problem.”

Zelena _hrumpfed_ angrily.  “Do you have _no_ control over your mother at all?”

“No.  Nor do I want to.  Easier to cage the wind.”  Rumplestiltskin didn’t bother not to roll his eyes; Zelena was _often_ on about how Morgan kept her from properly hurting Regina.  Morgan hadn’t actually lifted a finger against her, of course, but she didn’t have to.  Zelena knew that going after Rumplestiltskin’s mother would make him destroy her.

“Fine.”  Zelena drew herself up again, making a great show of self-control.  “Regina doesn’t matter, anyway.  Once I kill my brat of a stepdaughter, she’ll mean nothing.  But I insist on getting something in return for being used.”

“And my training isn’t something in return?”  Rumplestiltskin let his voice grow high pitched, rolling the words off his tongue as if he was more offended than he was.  Truth be told, he was a trifle annoyed; Zelena was clever, yes, but he _was_ giving her a gift of magic like she’d never dreamt of when she ran from Oz in hopes of a better life in the Enchanted Forest.  She’d known enough magic to make herself into a queen—Evil or Wicked, the common people could never decide which—but not enough for much else.  _He’d_ given her that.  “I think you overestimate your own worth, _dearie._ ”

She sniffed.  “You’re hardly training me out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Of course not!  Who said I have any goodness in me to give?”  He laughed at that one, dancing away from this student who sometimes reminded him far too much of her mother.

_“I’ll have the dagger by then, Rumple, dear.  We both know that you’re only so clever, and I know you all too well.  I will find it easily.  Then we’ll make up for lost time.”_ Decades later, those words still made him shiver in sick fear.  Cora had meant them—and given half a chance, he was fairly certain that Zelena would do the same.

After all, he was well aware of the harem she kept buried deep in her castle, the one full of pretty but heartless men.  He’d actually cherished some unkind hopes that Killian Jones would find himself amongst their number, but the odious pirate still seemed to be free. 

“Your mother’s little maid seems to think you do.”  Zelena laughed, but the way she said the words made Rumplestiltskin’s nerves stand on edge.  “One would think she even _fancied_ you, judging from the way she looked at you!”

He gave her his nastiest smile.  “Well, I do have that effect on women.”  A trilling giggle.  “Your mother could have told you that, had she survived.”

The low blow landed just as he’d hoped, making Zelena flinch, but alas, it did not distract her from the subject of Belle.  “Don't tell me you’re bedding the little twit.  She _can’t_ be interesting enough for you.”

_Perhaps I like a little light in my life,_ he didn’t say, even as Zoso chimed in: _Even this one would be better than that stupid maid!  And you_ know _she wants you._ That thought was nauseating, but the alternative of telling Zelena how he felt about Belle was even stupider.  He wouldn’t endanger Belle like that, wouldn’t let Zelena know what the girl meant to him.

“Of course she isn’t.”  He snorted with as much derision as he could muster, thinking about how unlikely it was that Belle actually cared about him as anything more than a friend.  That helped him feel incredulous, at any rate.  “What kind of lackwit do you take me for?”

“You’re male.”  Zelena rolled her eyes.  “It doesn’t usually take much.”

“I’m the _Dark One_ , not some idiot man led by my desires.”  He waved a hand, shoving his guilt behind a cold façade and another giggle.  “Do you think I could feel anything for _anyone_ like that?  She’s nothing.  Get to the point of your visit, assuming you have one.  Or leave.”

* * *

 

“She’s nothing.  Get to the point of your visit, assuming you have one.  Or leave.”

_She’s nothing_.  The words echoed in Belle’s mind over and over again, overriding whatever answer Zelena gave.  Blinking rapidly, she pulled away from the door to Rumplestiltskin’s work room, heading down the stairs as fast as she could.  _She’s nothing._

What an idiot she’d been.  Eavesdroppers always deserved to hear the worst about themselves, and Belle had heard just that.  She supposed she deserved it, but— _She’s nothing._   Belle had started to hope, to really, really _hope_ …and now she knew that she’d been a fool.  Rumplestiltskin acted differently with her than he did with Zelena, but when she wasn’t there, he told the truth, didn’t he?

Her room was too far away, so Belle shut herself into the library to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter 12—“If You Love Her…”, in which Belle says something she regrets, Rumplestiltskin tries a romantic gesture, and words are said that cannot be unsaid.
> 
> Also, please check out my new story “[Ruins of Motherhood”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9861002) for the tale of how Morgan left her son with Malcolm.


	12. If You Love Her

Zelena was _finally_ gone, and Rumplestiltskin could not have been happier.  His protégé was an excellent sorceress and a fine student, but she really did grate on his nerves.  Despite Morgan having flat out told Zelena about his relationship with _her_ mother, Zelena continued to drop hints that he’d be welcome in her bed, a thought that Rumplestiltskin found downright repulsive.  Yes, she was Cora’s firstborn—a child whom Cora had almost signed over to him, all the while lying and implying she not already mothered a child—but all that did was make her useful.  The thought of bedding her turned his stomach.  She was both too much like her mother and not enough like Cora; Zelena shared Cora’s ambitious dark streak, but she had none of Cora’s patient calculation.  She was petulant where Cora had been regal, impatient where Cora had been strong.  Zelena was a nuisance, but a dangerous one.  And now she was sniffing around Belle.

_Belle._

The thought of her name left him feeling warm in ways Rumplestiltskin could not remember _ever_ having felt, and despite the never-ending chorus of voices in his head objecting to the beautiful brunette, he had no regrets.  He was starting to believe that she genuinely cared about him— _him!_ —and somehow, her touch made the voices silent.  He had not thought anything could do that, not since Bae, and Rumplestiltskin found himself feeling actual hope for the first time in centuries.

She had laughed with him.  And at him, but that was all right.  He didn’t mind if _Belle_ laughed at him, although Rumplestiltskin wasn’t quite sure when that had happened.  She was pure light, his Belle, and she had reminded him that living in the shadows was no life at all.  Just thinking of her made his heart beat faster.  He wasn’t ready to say that, of course, and maybe he would never be, but he could still subtly let her know how much she meant to him.  She would never love him, of course, not the way he knew he was rapidly falling for her, but having Belle’s friendship was no small matter.

Rumplestiltskin would have to be content with that.  He wanted more, of course, because he had always been a selfish coward, but he knew that a beautiful young maiden _befriending_ the beast was already asking too much.  Yet that thought didn’t stop him from making a detour to the garden before he went back to the great hall.  He almost chickened out, but remembering Belle’s words helped:

_Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow._   He could be like his maid, couldn’t he?  She’d stepped into the unknown, sacrificing herself to save her people.  Surely he could dare to demonstrate his feelings, even a little.  So, Rumplestiltskin steeled himself and stepped outside, staring at the flowers he’d so often complained about.  Spying out the best red rose, he quickly snipped it off the vine and headed back inside to find Belle.

When she wasn’t in the great hall, he thought nothing of it.  Belle was hardly a sedentary woman, and he could easily cast a spell to find her.

* * *

 

Morgan hadn’t expected to hear crying coming from the library.  Oh, Zelena visiting always caused some sort of chaos, mostly because the twit was as annoying as a case of the boils, but _crying_?  Belle was hardly the crying sort; the girl hadn’t shed a tear after those first few nights.  Belle was strong, far stronger than a young noblewoman with her background had any right to be, and she was hardly the sort to hole herself up in the library and sob.  Not at all.

True to form, Belle’s head snapped up when Morgan stepped in, and she immediately wiped the tears away with angry motions.  “I’m fine.”

“I hadn’t asked, dear.”  Morgan let her eyebrows rise but kept her voice as gentle as she could.  She still couldn’t stop herself from sighing, though.  “What _did_ the fool boy do this time?”

It had to be Rumplestiltskin, after all.  Zelena was in the castle, but Morgan couldn’t imagine Belle crying like this over something the Wicked Queen had said or done.  Belle was more resilient than that, and Zelena just wasn’t clever enough to make Belle feel so terrible.  That left Rumplestiltskin, who was as mercurial as he was hot-tempered.  He was also terrified of letting people in, particularly after what had happened with Cora, so Morgan could see him having said something to drive Belle away.

_I should have talked to him with more than just sly insinuations,_ she thought angrily.  Feeling uncharacteristically optimistic, Morgan had thought she could let Belle and Rumplestiltskin’s budding relationship take its course.  However, it appeared that her son was not the only fool in the castle.

“Nothing.”  Belle could look every bit as mulish as Rumplestiltskin could, it turned out, and for a moment, Morgan was reminded of Mordred’s youthful pouts. 

“Oh, don’t give me ‘nothing’, girl. I know what kind of idiot my son can be.  What did he say to you?”

“He didn’t say anything to _me_.”  Belle muttered the words rebelliously, but her eyes were still full of pain.  “He can’t be bothered to tell the truth to _me_.”

Morgan fought back the urge to groan.  “And what truth would that be?”

“That I’m hoping for something foolish.  _You’re_ hoping for something foolish,” Belle snapped, rising and facing Morgan with more fury than Morgan would have thought the girl capable of.  “He can’t love!  He doesn’t feel anything for _anyone_!  He said as much himself!  He said I was _nothing_ to him!”

Belle looked ready to throw down the book she’d held in her hands, but instead she put it down on the table.  Firmly.  And then she turned to glare at Morgan once more while the older woman struggled to find words.

“I am _not_ some weak little girl who is going to be a plaything in _whatever_ game you’re playing with your son.  I promised forever, and I will not break my word, but that doesn’t mean I’m here to be toyed with.  I am not _nothing_!”

Morgan gaped, her heart sinking rapidly.  How could she salvage this?  Belle assumed that she and Rumplestiltskin had been toying with her emotions on purpose, and that was the exact opposite of the response that Morgan had hoped for.  Everything she had hoped for, dreamed for, was unravelling right in front of her.  “I assure you that no one has—”

“Then you’re even more delusional than I am,” Belle cut her off coldly.  “Your son is the _Dark One_.  Clearly that means he feels nothing for no one.  He said it himself, and neither of us should be surprised by that.  Nor should we be surprised that he happily socializes with Queen _Zelena_ , and everyone knows what she is.”

Spinning, Belle headed for the door before Morgan could formulate an answer, but then they both froze.  Rumplestiltskin was standing in the doorway, his eyes wide and broken.  Every line of his body radiated horrified heartbreak, and Morgan didn’t need to ask how much he had heard of Belle’s tirade.  Clearly, he had heard enough.

Belle swallowed noisily.  “Rumplestiltskin—”

“Oh, don’t let me stop you from being about your duties, _dearie_ ,” he snapped coldly. Morgan opened her mouth to say something—she didn’t know what—but Rumplestiltskin instead offered Belle a deeply mocking bow before disappearing in a cloud of dark purple smoke.

The rose he had held in his hands floated to the floor slowly, as if mocking the very possibility of love.  Both women stared at it for a long moment in shocked silence.

“ _Now_ look at what state he’s in,” Morgan grumbled at Belle before she could stop herself.  The girl had every right to be wary, of course—every other Dark One would gleefully have played with her thus—but it was Morgan who would have to repair this damage.  She almost said more, but Belle turned to her with wide eyes.

“What have I done?” Belle whispered, and the anger flooded out of Morgan.

She sighed.  “What exactly did you hear?”

“He was talking to Zelena.”  Wide blue eyes turned on Morgan as Belle’s voice shook.  “He said that he was the Dark One, and he couldn’t feel anything like that for anyone.”

“He said that to Zelena.”  Morgan tried not to stress the queen’s name, but it was hard.  Why did ordinarily smart people have to be so thick when their emotions were involved?  Morgan had been the same in her youth, but she’d hoped that Belle was smarter than she’d been.  “Not to you?”

“No, we were talking about families and why I came here.”  Belle swallowed.  “It was…nice.  He wasn’t like he was with Zelena.  And he’d be honest with _her_ , wouldn’t he?  She’s like him.”

A supremely un-ladylike snort escaped Morgan.  “I have a hard time imagining anyone _less_ like my son than Zelena.  Yes, they have both embraced darkness to a degree.  But that is where the similarities end, unless you would term Rumplestiltskin vain, increasingly homicidal, and relentlessly self-centered.”

“Only sometimes.”  Belle looked away, and Morgan just waited, watching silently as Belle walked over to pick up the discarded rose.  “This…this was for me, wasn’t it?” Belle whispered.  “I’ve messed everything up again.”

“No, you haven’t.”  Smiling sadly, Morgan stepped forward.  “If there’s anyone who understands making mistakes, it is my son.  Go talk to him, and everything will be all right.”

She should not have made such a promise, of course, but Morgan saw the rose as such a good sign that she forgot how badly Rumplestiltskin had been wounded in the past.

* * *

 

_Do the brave thing,_ Belle told herself, squaring her shoulders and marching towards the great hall, still holding the rose Rumplestiltskin had dropped.  This was the second time she’d seriously misunderstood Rumplestiltskin, and she hated herself for it.  Yet, intellectually, she knew that she was hardly the only one at fault.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t like to share things; even in their pleasant conversation that morning, he’d changed the subject when she’d asked something too personal.  How could she get to know him if he never let her in?  Sometimes, Rumplestiltskin would reach out, so tentatively, like he _wanted_ to let Belle into his heart, but he would always skitter back.  What was he afraid of?  What could the most powerful sorcerer in the Enchanted Forest possibly have to fear from _her_?

Belle was afraid, too.  She didn’t like admitting that, but she felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, unable to see if there was a bridge or not.  One wrong step and she could fall, but what happened if she did?  _Can you love him?_   The very idea was terrifying, particularly with that deep darkness that she knew had taken root inside Rumplestiltskin.  Yet Belle could feel her heart racing in anticipation.  Was that love?  She didn’t know.  All she knew was that she would never forgive herself if she left things between them like this, all because of a stupid misunderstanding.

But when she got close to the great hall, the sound of glass breaking reached her ears.  Something _crashed_ , and Belle thought she heard wood splinter.  Hearing that made her hesitate, but Belle took a deep breath and forced herself to push the doors open and step inside.

When she did, she found Rumplestiltskin surrounded by broken glass, upended treasures, and most of a now-decapitated cabinet.  Belle froze, but Rumplestiltskin still wheeled to face her, his reptilian eyes wide and furious. 

“What now, dearie?  Haven’t you said enough already, or do you come to mock me further?”  His words were accompanied by a twirling of his right hand, but now his movements weren’t flippant of playful; they were _dangerous_.  “If you have, feel free to hold your tongue, or I shall.”

Rumplestiltskin snapped his fingers in a motion that she remembered all too well from when he’d taken the Sheriff of Nottingham’s tongue straight out, and for a moment, all Belle could do was stare, her mouth agape with shock.

“No?”  Rumplestiltskin snorted.  “In that case, do clean up the mess.” 

He started to walk away, but Belle’s words stopped him cold.  “Did you mean it?”  She had to know, had to hear it from _him_ and not just his mother.  “Did you mean what you said to Zelena?”

“I say many things, _My Lady_.”  Contempt dripped from every word as Rumplestiltskin turned to face her, and his smile turned scornful.  “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You told her you couldn’t feel anything for anyone.”  Belle struggled to keep her voice steady, but it was so hard.  And her words turned so small when she added: “You told her I was nothing.”

He wiggled, but Belle could see that the sarcastic jiggle was a front.  A show.  “Eavesdroppers tend to hear what they most deserve to hear, you know.”

“Was it _true_?”  It took all of her self-control to ask the question without screaming at him, because the wounded look underneath Rumplestiltskin’s bristly exterior was telling her the exact opposite of what his words said, and Belle was so confused.  She wanted to shake him, but if he’d broken everything in here, might he break her, too?  Maybe she was too angry to care.

“I’m the Dark One, dear.”  A giggle.  “Did you expect something else?  And here I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.  I suppose that isn’t true.”

“Stop it!  Stop hiding behind that mask and tell me the _truth!_ ”  Belle marched up to Rumplestiltskin, glaring at him as he snarled wordlessly.  “You’re two different people: one with her and one with me.  Which one is real?”

This giggle was so high-pitched that it had to be hiding something.  “If you have to ask the question—”

Reaching out, Belle quickly grabbed him by the arms.  Not too hard, but hard enough to get his attention, to stop Rumplestiltskin’s stupid little imp voice and make him pay attention.  Really, her hands ended up resting on arms of the silk shirt he was wearing, pressing enough to make him look at her with suddenly owlish eyes.  For the first time, Belle felt like he was actually focused on her, listening to her instead of the darkness in his mind.  She’d meant to pull away after she got his attention, but somehow, Belle found herself standing there with her hands grasping his upper arms.

“What—what are you… _doing_?”  Rumplestiltskin’s voice was a startled whisper, nothing like the fiery mockery of only moments earlier.

“Talking to Rumplestiltskin, not the Dark One.”  Belle didn’t know why touching him seemed to help, but she’d noticed that, lately, and she wasn’t above taking advantage of it.  Not if it made him listen.

He swallowed so loudly that Belle thought she could hear his tongue working.  “I—I am both,” Rumplestiltskin said after a long moment.  “There’s not one without the other.”

“But the man you are, the man under the darkness… _he_ can feel, can’t he?” Belle asked the question hesitantly; she didn’t think he was lying, now, or avoiding her questions, but he wasn’t exactly being helpful.

“Why would that matter?”  Rumplestiltskin whispered, and Belle could hear his voice shaking.

The fact that he was as terrified as she was gave her courage.  _Do the brave thing,_ she told herself, thinking of the rose still held in her hand.  Now it was pressing against Rumplestiltskin’s upper arm, and Belle was sure he hadn’t missed that.

“Because I could love you…if you’d let me,” she whispered in return, holding her breath.

Rumplestiltskin jerked back, his eyes wide, tearing away from Belle’s hands.  “… _What?_ ”

“I think you heard me.”  Belle wasn’t sure if she had the courage to repeat the words, but she found them slipping out, anyway.  “I think I love you.”

“No.”  Now he skittered back even further, shaking his head wildly.  “No, no, no no, no.  You can’t.  You _shouldn’t_.”

“What?” Belle gaped.

“You can’t.”

“I think it’s up to me to decide who I love.”  She hadn’t expected this reaction, hadn’t been braced for Rumplestiltskin to respond so hostilely.  Was he that afraid of her?  Or had she misread all the signs of his affection during the last few months, the way he’d slowly opened up to her and the way he smiled at her?

“You can’t love _me_.”  Rumplestiltskin seemed to come back on balance, just a little.  “I’m a monster.  I’m—”

“Don’t call yourself that!”

“But I am.  And that is why you have to go.”  He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to argue, a twisted by sad smile crossing his face.  “I am not…someone who can love you properly.  And I am dangerous, Belle.”

She shook her head, her heart soaring as Belle realized that it wasn’t a lack of feeling that made Rumplestiltskin object to her words.  “I’m not going anywhere.  And I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

“I’m _not_.”  Belle reached for him again, certain that he wouldn’t pull away a second time—until he did. 

Violently.

“You _should_ be!”  Rumplestiltskin’s snarl became a shout.  “Whatever you think I am, I am not.  I am—I am _dangerous_.  And you, little missy, should run from the likes of me screaming!”

“Well, I’m not running.  And I’m not afraid.”  Belle managed to grab his hand, and the softest and most broken expression she had ever seen crossed his face.  “Rumple, please.”

“No!”  He wrenched free of her again, his expression turning viciously furious.  The sudden changes were enough to give Belle whiplash.  “Love is a distraction!  Love is _nothing_!  I don’t need this, I don’t—I can’t—” Rumplestiltskin shook his head so hard that his messy curls went every which way, backing up so quickly that he tripped over his own feet, barely catching himself before he fell.  “No.  No, you don’t know what you’re saying.  I won’t let you do this.  I _won’t_!”

“This isn’t all your choice!”  Goaded into anger, Belle strode forward, shouting back at him.  “No one decides my fate but me, and you don’t get to decide who I love!”

“Foolish girl!  I am the _Dark One_ , not some suitor with a—a—” Rumplestiltskin seemed unable to carry his anger far enough to finish the sentence, and his voice faltered.  She could see the battle in his eyes, the war between love and darkness, but even as Belle reached out a fourth time, he vanished in a cloud of black smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long delay before this chapter…life just got the better of me. I had a bad case of writer’s block, but it seems to be over now.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter 13—“…Let Her Go,” in which Morgan confronts Rumplestiltskin, Zelena receives an unexpected visitor of the fairy sort, and things come to a head between Rumplestiltskin and Belle.


	13. ...Let Her Go

Morgan had followed Belle down to the great hall, but she hadn’t said a word until that disastrous conversation was over.  She could see what was happening, could see the war happening within Rumplestiltskin as both his own insecurities and the previous Dark Ones resisted the very idea of love.  She had hoped that he could overcome them, that the love he felt for Baelfire might help him not flee from love again, yet she had underestimated the lingering effect of Cora’s betrayals.  Rumplestiltskin had fled instead of letting love in, and Morgan’s magic was more than enough to tell her than her son was not in the castle.

“Damn.”

Belle wheeled on her.  “Is that all you have to say?  What’s wrong with him?  Why is he so afraid of love?”

“Very few people he has ever loved have done well by him.”  Morgan sighed heavily.  “I had hoped he could overcome that, but…I think he is afraid he might hurt you.”

“Would he?” Belle didn’t look alarmed; the girl had her hands on her hips and was glaring at Morgan defiantly.

“You already know he would not.”  Stopping herself from snapping was hard.  Morgan wanted to throttle her son, but she knew that wouldn’t help. 

Belle bit her lip thoughtfully.  “You said that people who loved him haven’t done well by him.  Are you one of them?”

“Of course I am,” she snapped before she could stop herself, the old self-loathing rising immediately.  “I abandoned him as a baby.  I have tried to make up for that, but any actions I take are too little and too late.  They always will be.”

“So you expect _me_ to fix that for you.” Belle’s thoughtful look turned into a glare, and Morgan felt her shoulders slump.

“Perhaps I do.  Or did.”

They stood in silence for a long moment, with Morgan feeling guiltier by the moment.  Belle had accused her of playing games with her earlier, and while that wasn’t _precisely_ true, it wasn’t really false.  Morgan liked Belle well enough, but she hadn’t really given a damn about the girl insofar as Belle’s choices were concerned.  What she cared about was Rumplestiltskin, and the possibility of breaking the Dark One’s curse and finally freeing her son of it.  Morgan knew where Nimue’s power had come from, after all, and she knew of Merlin’s prophecy concerning a Dark One who would finally learn to use the power for light.  She had viewed Belle as a convenient way to facilitate that change more than she had viewed her as a person.

How ironic was it that her son was more worried for Belle’s safety than she was?

“I’m not doing this for you, you know.”  When Belle spoke again, her words were hard and uncompromising.  Then her face softened.  “But I’ll try for him.”

“He’s afraid for you for more than one reason.”  Morgan thought Belle already understood that, but she knew that the words needed saying.  And perhaps it was time for some honesty on her part, too.  “He’s not wrong to be, either.  Rumplestiltskin has enemies who would be eager to hurt him using you.  He’s more afraid of losing you than of loving you, I think.”

“Why?”  Belle blinked.  “Because he lost his son?”

“In part.”

Belle crossed her arms.  “That doesn’t mean he gets to choose for me.  Or that he should be afraid of love.”

“Tell him that.  I know.”  Morgan smiled sadly, though.  Her own track record with love was terrible, and she had long since decided to dedicate what love she had left in her to her one remaining child.  Rumplestiltskin had proven easier to love than she had expected, however, so she did know how Belle felt.

_He’s infuriatingly stubborn and so very damaged, yet it’s impossible to miss the good heart hidden behind the darkness once he lets you in._   Morgan had been surprised by how quickly Belle worked her way into Rumplestiltskin’s heart—and vice versa—but now that fledgling love stood on the edge of a precipice.  They had both underestimated Rumplestiltskin’s fears, but Morgan thought she understood what he was _really_ afraid of, and it wasn’t love itself.  Not even after what Cora had tried to do to him.

No, he was afraid of _losing_ Belle, not of loving her.

“I will tell him.”  The way Belle met her eyes practically dared Morgan to object. 

She didn’t.

* * *

 

“I think I’m in love.”  Snow’s entire face was _glowing_ , and Regina didn’t have the heart to say something cutting to her friend.  After all, she had known Snow since the younger woman was a little girl; her father and King Leopold had been good friends.  Regina had found herself the shoulder Snow cried on when her mother died and her father married Zelena, and when Snow had to run from her wicked stepmother, who she’d turned to had been an easy choice.

Regina didn’t regret helping her, either, even though it had made both of them outlaws and had forced Regina’s own father to go into hiding.  Her uncle the king refused to go to war to protect Regina or Snow, but at least he was willing to protect her father.  That left Regina and Snow in the woods with outlaws, but that arrangement was turning out much better than Regina had expected.  _Even if it means Snow robs even_ more _royal carriages…she can at least pretend she isn’t doing it to meet a certain prince,_ she thought with a snort.

She rolled her eyes.  “Well, that’s obvious.”

“Regina!”

“What?”  Not snorting again was hard. “You’ve been mooning over Prince James for _weeks_.  Maybe longer.  Yesterday, you were on about how he was smart enough to catch you in a net, and let me tell you, I wanted to—”

“Oh, because you’re so much better about Robin,” Snow cut her off with a grin, and Regina jerked herself up short.

“I’m nowhere near as bad as you.”  Her heart was _not_ suddenly racing.  “And besides, he just lost his wife.  Making romantic overtures when he’s mourning would be crass.”

Snow gave her a pointed look.  “But you like him.”

“Of course I do.  He’s a nice man.”  Regina shrugged as casually as she could.  “Stop changing the subject.  You’re in love with Prince James.”

“I think so, yes.  Is it weird, falling in love so quickly?  I know his father wants him to marry Abigail, but he doesn’t seem to want to, and—and I’m being stupid, aren’t I?  I’m just an outlaw.  Everyone believes I murdered my father, probably _including_ Prince James.”

Regina shook her head.  “Love is never stupid, and it’s always worth fighting for.  My father taught me that.”  Thinking of Daniel made her smile sadly, but her Daddy had been right.  It was better to take a chance on love than to live without it forever.  “Talk to him.  You never know until you try.”

Snow hugged her, and Regina hugged her back just as tightly. Zelena might have been her sister by blood, but Snow and the outlaws here in the woods were the family Regina had chosen, and she didn’t regret that for a moment.

* * *

 

Anyone who dared use a locator spell to track Rumplestiltskin down would have been in line for a _very_ quick death.  Unless, of course, that person was his mother. 

“I don’t want to talk to you!” he snapped, trying desperately to keep his tone dismissive instead of furiously wounded.  He didn’t need his mother, not right now.  Maybe not ever, not if she kept sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong.

He didn’t need to turn around to know Morgan had crossed her arms and snorted.  “That’s because you’re a fool.”

“Me?  _I’m_ the fool?”  Rumplestiltskin whirled around before he could stop himself.  “Don’t deny that this is _your_ idea, Mother!”

“Why would I?”  She shrugged, gesturing around the hovel they were in, her nose wrinkling in distaste.  “It’s a better one than coming here.”

“Don’t even say it.”  The words hissed out of him coldly.  “My boy grew up here.”  _I was loved here, even if only by him._

The love of his son and his mother was the only love he should ever want or need.  He had been a fool to fall in love with Belle, and even more of a fool to think that doing so might be safe.  Loving his maid from afar was one thing, but the knowledge that she could love him back—that she’d said as much!—broke him into tiny pieces.  Their brutally honest conversation had brought so much into the light that Rumplestiltskin felt blinded.  He couldn’t do this.  He _couldn’t_. 

_Focus on Baelfire, on the curse, and on getting to him.  Nothing else matters._   Yet he could still hear the faintly mocking laughter of his predecessors.  They’d stopped demanding he kill Belle a few hours earlier, yet they were all still rather amused at his expense.

“My apologies.  I didn’t know.”  Morgan seemed to be brought up short by his answer, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t care.  Particularly when she turned the subject back to Belle.  “I know you’re worried someone might hurt her, but—”

“You know _nothing!_ ”  He wanted to throttle her, could feel the darkness boiling in him.  His rage over denying himself love demanded a target, but Rumplestiltskin would not let it hurt his mother.  Not after everything.

“Do you love her?” A gentle hand landed on his arm when he turned away.  “Do you, Rumple?”

He snorted bitterly.  “Of course I do.”

“Then don’t run from this.  Come back to the castle and talk to the girl.  She’s confused and hurt, but all is not lost.”

Rumplestiltskin just shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.  Morgan seemed content to leave him in silence for a long moment before she asked:

“Do you think she’s like Cora, then?  That she’ll betray you?”

“Belle is nothing like Cora.”  The words were harsh, but Rumplestiltskin knew they were true.  Even as Zoso cackled madly, he knew that Belle wasn’t after his power.

No, she wanted _him,_ which was far more terrifying.

“Then come back before it’s too late.”  Morgan squeezed his arm, and Rumplestiltskin just closed his eyes against her soft voice.  “Please.”

He wanted to.  Oh, he _wanted_ to.

“I can’t.”  Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard.  Those were not tears trying to leak out of his eyes.  _Go take her, coward,_ Zoso demanded.  _Say sweet words and she might even_ let _you.  Not that you’d ever be brave enough._   Opening his eyes did not banish the voices, but it made focusing on his mother easier.  “Love…love like that is not made for demons like me.”

“Oh, Rumple.  You foolish, loving, boy.”  Suddenly, Morgan’s hand was on his face, soft and far too gentle, and Rumplestiltskin _wanted_ to pull away.  Yet he couldn’t.  Not now.  “Let her love you, if she can.”

He wanted to.  Burned to.  How had Belle become so important to him in the last months?  Had it even been a year?  He knew that he loved her; lying to himself was useless on that front, as was—apparently—lying to his mother.  Except Rumplestiltskin knew where this led.  Belle was not Cora; she would not seek his power only to betray him repeatedly.  She would love him honestly, if she could, and he would hurt her.  Or someone else would.  Who did hardly mattered; he was the _Dark One_ , and his enemies were legion.  Even if he somehow overrode the voices in his head screaming for him to ravage her and _own_ her, someone else would take Belle to hurt him.

Rumplestiltskin couldn’t let that happen.  He _wouldn’t._ Not even if it broke his heart.

“I can’t.”  With an effort, Rumplestiltskin pulled away.  He had to harden his heart right now, had to distance himself from love as best he could.  So, he drew on the darkness, wrapping it around himself like a shield, and using its coldness to draw a line between himself and his feelings.

Morgan opened her mouth to argue, but raised a hand and teleported her away before she could speak.  That left Rumplestiltskin alone in his old hovel, in the home where he had both raised and lost Baelfire, a place where he had known so much joy—and so much pain.  He hated this place, but that made the hovel the right place to be.

Morgan got the hint and didn’t return.

* * *

 

“I can help you find someone who will make you happy.” 

The stupid green fairy spoke so earnestly that it made Zelena want to puke.  As far as she was concerned, the midget’s only redeeming quality was that she had a good choice in the color of her wardrobe, but even then, Zelena wasn’t sure that the idiot wasn’t trying to suck up to her.  Why would _she_ want a fairy’s help?  Did the oversized fly think that Zelena was so desperate that she’d turn to someone like _her_?  The very idea was laughable.

“Why would I want help from a pathetic little fairy to be _happy_?” She snorted before she could stop herself; snorting wasn’t terribly regal, but Zelena thought she could do it just this once.  “I have everything I could possibly want.”

The diminutive fairy stuck her chin out defiantly, hands on her hips and feet spread like she was ready to go to war.  “Except someone who actually loves you.”

“Love is weakness.”  A maid who had once served her mother had told Zelena that was Cora’s mantra, and Zelena liked saying it.  It made her sound strong.  _Everyone_ said that Cora had been strong.

“Don’t be stupid.”  Tinker Bell rolled her eyes.  “Love is—”

This time Zelena scoffed, which was much more queenly.  “Love is a tool men use to keep women subservient to them.”

“And what if I could find you a man who would be subservient to _you_?” The fairy cocked her head, and then shrugged.  “Some men like that kind of thing.”

“Do they?”  The question wormed out of Zelena before she could stop it, but despite herself, she was intrigued.  James—her faithless prince who had chosen _Snow_!—had liked strong women, but he hadn’t exactly wanted to kneel at her feet.  Zelena wouldn’t mind an equal, someone who respected her and would fight beside her, but she was definitely interested in the idea of a strong man who would let _her_ rule.

“It takes all kinds.”  Tink laughed lightly, and Zelena found herself smiling before she quashed the expression.

Queens did _not_ smile at fairies.  Not powerful queens, anyway.  So, she narrowed her eyes with suspicion.

“Why do you want to help me, anyway?  You fairies are a prissy lot, always following that holier-than-thou Blue Fairy.”  Zelena knew that.  The Blue Fairy had helped Snow more than once, so there was no way that any of _her_ minions would help Zelena.  Not that the idea of having a fairy in her corner was in any way unappealing. It might even be useful.

Tink shrugged again.  “Blue kicked me out.  I tried to help a fellow fairy run away and find love, and she didn’t like that very much.”

“So, you’re not _actually_ a fairy?” 

“No, I’m a fairy.  Blue couldn’t take my wings because I’d completed the training.  She could just make me unwelcome, so I left.”  A bitter smile.  “I don’t miss most of them, anyway.  But I _do_ like helping people who actually need it.  You do.”

Tink’s answer made sense, even if Zelena figured there was a lot she wasn’t telling her.  Still, Zelena liked the idea of finding a man who would appreciate her for who she was.  She’d cast a line or two in the pirate’s direction, but he hadn’t seemed terribly interested in anything more than a fling, and Zelena really did want more than that.  She didn’t like admitting that, even to herself, but it was true.  She was lonely—but not so lonely that she’d let any man control her.  Not ever.  She’d follow her mother’s example and be the one in control, even if it meant taking her potential beau’s heart.

* * *

 

Belle didn’t see Rumplestiltskin again until the next morning.  She’d hoped he’d come back so that they could talk, but so far as she could tell, he stayed out of the castle until after breakfast.  Then, just as she was silently finishing her own meal in the kitchen, he appeared across from where she sat without warning, making Belle jump.

“Rumplestiltskin.”  Belle gulped, jumping to her feet to face him and trying to swallow her surprise.  Sitting while he was standing just didn’t feel right, not after their last mess of a conversation.  She wanted to face him on equal terms, not look up at him.  “I didn’t know you were back.”

“I’m releasing you from our deal.”

A long moment passed before those words sunk in.  Belle found herself stuttering.  “… _what?_ ”

“Leave.  Go.  You’re not my prisoner anymore.”  He shook his head rapidly, and Belle couldn’t help but notice the way Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“I haven’t been your prisoner since you let me out of that dungeon.”  He hadn’t really still viewed her that way, had he?  Belle thought they had something special, something _more_ than that.

“It doesn’t matter.”  Rumplestiltskin finally looked at her, and she could see pain radiating out of his eyes.  “You can go.  You’re free.”

Blinking, Belle let the words sink in.  She was free.  Free from the deal she had made, free from staying in the Dark Castle _forever_.  She could go home, go adventuring, or do whatever she wanted.  Belle had never expected to be freed, even as she grew closer and closer to Rumplestiltskin and stopped wanting it, so the feeling took her breath away.  Her life was her own, probably for the first time.  Her father couldn’t command her, and Rumplestiltskin had _let her go._

“What if I don’t want to go?” she asked curiously.

That seemed to jerk him up short.  “What? No.  You have to.  You have to go.”

“Why?”  Belle crossed her arms, jutting her chin out at him.  “Because I said I could—”

“ _Don’t say it!_ ”  Suddenly, he looked panicked, panicked and desperate all at the same time.  “You can’t.  You _shouldn’t_.”

“I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you, Rumple?”  Belle could read his body language, could see the way he leaned towards her without meaning to.  There was a yearning in Rumplestiltskin’s eyes that warmed her to her very bones, making Belle feel light-headed and giddy.  Deciding to take a chance, she reached for his hand, squeezing his fingers gently.  “Tell me you have no feelings for me, and I’ll go.”

“I don’t—I don’t—” Rumplestiltskin cut off, squeezing his eyes shut.  “I want you to be happy.”

“Well, that’s good.”  She smiled her best smile.  “Because I want me to be happy, too.  And I think that could be with you, if you’re brave enough to try.”

She knew he was afraid; every line of his too-tense body screamed that.  So, Belle squeezed his hand again.  Rumplestiltskin, however, just shook his head again.

“You can’t,” he whispered raggedly.  “I can’t.  Everything I lo—everything I _touch_ eventually turns to dust.  I am a monster, Belle.  And that is why you have to go.”

“But that’s—”

“You deserve your freedom.”  Rumplestiltskin’s shrug was bitter and a little twisted.  “And if…if you come back, I’ll still be here.  But take your freedom first.  Remember what it is like to live away from a monster.”

“You think I’ll come back?”  Belle’s heart leapt; she hadn’t missed the word he’d cut off earlier.  Rumplestiltskin might believe that everything he loved turned to dust, but she could prove him wrong.  And if it took leaving to prove that to him, she’d come back again.  _He loves me._ Her heart beat wildly in her chest, hammering out a rhythm that she could barely hear over.   _That’s what he stopped himself from saying._

“Oh, Belle.”  His sad smile broke her heart.  “I expect I’ll never see you again.”

“Then why tell me to go?”

“Because I’m sorry.  For…everything.”  Slowly, his free hand came up to touch her cheek, but the contact was so fleeting that Belle almost thought she’d imagined the feeling of his warm fingers against her skin.  “Because you deserve better.  The castle will provide everything that you need for your journey, or if you desire, I’ll take you straight to your father’s castle.”

“No.  I don’t want to go back there.”  Still stunned, Belle shook her head.  She wasn’t sure if she wanted to leave, but she knew that she didn’t want to go there.  She wouldn’t go back to that suffocating world where she was expected to be nothing other than Gaston’s broodmare, to tie herself to a man who thought nothing of torturing an innocent ogre-child.  Her father was a little better; he _did_ love her, but he thought nothing of her opinions or her intelligence.  But Belle felt like she’d drown if she returned home.

_I want adventure_ , she knew.  But wasn’t loving Rumplestiltskin an adventure?  It would be, but only if he would let her.  And he seemed to think that she couldn’t love him if she left, that leaving would make her feelings fade. 

“Tell me what your desire is, and I shall fulfill it.”  Rumplestiltskin stepped back as she mulled her options over, offering Belle a courtly bow that made her smile sadly.

She almost told him that she wanted to stay.  Almost said that _all_ she wanted was to stay here, with him.  Yet part of Belle could see the sense in what Rumplestiltskin said.  Trapped here, with no one but Rumplestiltskin and Morgan for company—aside from those who came for deals—could she truly know her own heart?  Belle was certain that she could, but she could see the doubt in Rumplestiltskin’s eyes.  He feared that she loved him out of self-defense, that she was only looking to better her situation through his good graces.

So, Belle nodded slowly.  She would leave—and then she would come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Chapter 14—“Curse the Fading of the Light,” in which Belle finds her adventure, Snow learns an important truth about Charming, Morgan attempts to shake sense into Rumplestiltskin, and Tink meets with an old friend.


End file.
